


Starwatch

by CruxMDQ



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 121,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruxMDQ/pseuds/CruxMDQ
Summary: A youthful lieutenant Shepard unknowingly facilitates the release of an ancient evil and sets in motion a chain of events that will greatly influence the outcome of the first contact with Citadel species - and potentially threaten the standing of humanity among them.





	1. Unsealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Alliance Navy lieutenant is dispatched to open a long-forgotten vault in an isolated crater on the Moon.

Moon - Cabeus crater

A plasma cutting tool was set upon the blast door, and a shower of sparks erupted. A burning light strong enough to scorch the eyes started to labor its way through the ancient but sturdy bolts. Around the engineer, ten heavily armed and armored troopers waited, weapons at the ready, breaths terse, hearts beating with the adrenaline of field operations.

The engineer working on the door looked behind his shoulder briefly: "Ten to fifteen minutes, ma'am." The deceptively small woman nodded and studied the ancient blast door. It had no markings, no logos, no control panels of any kind on the sides.

The briefing she had received on this assignment was sparse enough to guess what her superiors knew on the topic: nothing. This ancient facility on the Cabeus crater was enough of a mystery to the Alliance military that they had seen fit to commission an ICT graduate to enter it. Lieutenant Aaliyah Shepard was not one given to questioning orders, but like any career officer, she had a working brain, and working brains tended to pick relentlessly at enigmas.

* * *

Deep within the vaults of the complex, instruments long since dormant detected the imminent breach. The security systems that protected the facility had been state-of-the-art decades ago, but their prolonged dormancy had not affected their efficiency in the least.

* * *

"Alpha team, be advised, power surges detected within the compound," Shepard's XO warning echoed in her earbuds.

"Copy that, London," she acknowledged. "Everybody, check your shields and weapons. Something just went online in there."

A chorus of yeses answered her. "Static defenses, ma'am?"

"I don't know. But better safe than sorry. There's got to be a good reason for someone wanting us of all people to reopen this place."

Shepard's eyes were on the door. The design she recognized; it was a sturdy zero-g atmospheric hatch. Except for a few slight differences -no external control panel, for one-, it was basically the same thing she had first seen at the Horizon Lunar Colony.  _So what is this place?_  A forgotten depot or dependency or shelter? Reopening it did not call for the deployment of an Alliance Navy platoon.

After a painstaking effort, a hydraulic jack was worked under the huge blast door and turned on; the troopers, positioned on both sides of the gate, waited and watched for any signs of danger. There was a sharp hiss of escaping air, and they caught flashes of red light coming from the other side.

Then the hydraulic jack stopped. Periodic flashes of red and yellow lit the cavernous tunnel. Nothing moved.

Shepard raised a fist and signaled with her fingers. The engineer nodded his acknowledgement and produced a small spherical device from his hip satchel, which once released floated freely, spun in place a few times, then started moving and hovered past the gate.

* * *

In the dark, a thought stirred.

_Life…_

Memories sprang to mind, unbidden. Struggling and fighting. Faces. A blond man. Quickly the torpor receded to give way to cold rage.

_Jack…_

* * *

The recon drone fed the output of its sensors both to the engineer and to Shepard. She was studying the place -it seemed to be a loading bay of some kind, but very rudimentary- when some lights blinked in the darkness; on a mental command she changed the visible spectrum to see-

-a mech shifting configuration into a huge stationary rotary cannon that quickly locked in on the recon drone. A flash of gunfire and the drone was blown to pieces.

"Great," Shepard cursed under her breath. "What do we have in there?"

The engineer was querying his database. "It's a… a Bastion mech, ma'am," the engineer replied. "It's a relic from the First Omnic Crisis."

 _Which means this place was built… forty years ago?_ "For a relic, it's surprisingly functional." She frowned inside her helmet. The Omnics had gone the way of many ethnic groups previously subjugated into subservience - after some harrowing soul-searching and no small bloodshed, they had gone on to integrate themselves as members of society like everyone else. The fact that they were synthetics -an euphemism in place of the crude 'robots'- was a contentious point that still rankled many, and Bastions were a reminder of the worst of those times.

"London, this is Shepard," she reported. Or tried to. Her channel was flooded with static. "London?"

"Active countermeasures, ma'am," the engineer reported.

The platoon leader was puzzled. Why jam the communications…?  _Oh, I see._ Probably a signal for aid was being sent now. Who would come? Would anyone come at all?

She signaled her second-in-command to keep an eye on the tunnel exit in case someone surprised them from behind, then gave another order. A bulky trooper wielding a submachine gun and a heavy brace-like device strapped to his left arm stepped out of formation; a few commands to his omni-tool, then he placed his left forearm across and in front of him - and a barrier large enough to cover the approach of the whole platoon unfolded from the forearm brace. This shieldbearer signaled his readiness, and Shepard and the engineer took positions to his sides.

After a brief snapcount, they stepped out of cover. The rotary cannon opened up on the spot, but the barrier held - and as it fired, it gave the troopers a perfect target. The engineer used a laser designator to target a key mechanism on the gun, and Shepard pulled the trigger to fire a single round from her battle rifle. The cannon sputtered and stopped, jammed. The designator switched positions immediately; another round, and the Bastion was now effectively immobilized.

Shepard needed not giving further orders for her troopers to search for other countermeasures. It did not take long for them to find them: "Laser tripwires," the engineer cautioned, and sprayed some smoke to expose the two parallel bluish lines.

"Demo charges?" the shieldbearer speculated.

"Likely," was the wary reply.

The Alliance team searched the loading bay meticulously before concluding that there were no other nasty surprises that would make short work of their engineer before retreating back to the entrance and waiting for him to disarm the charges. As always, it made for a terse and uncomfortable wait.

"Fisher, report," Shepard ordered her second, in charge of the other fire team she had tasked into securing her escape route.

"All clear here, ma'am. No hostiles inbound. Still no contact with London."

"Keep trying. We are entering the facility. Report the findings to the commander the moment you regain contact."

"Yes, ma'am."

Thankfully, the wait was brief. "Ma'am? This is Krauze," the engineer said unnecessarily. "It's clear."

"What is it?" She could sense the restlessness in her engineer's voice.

"Whoever left this place behind did not settle for small things." It turned out that no simple explosive traps had been set to deter intruders, but a whole fusion charge instead, with a yield to rival the muzzle energy of a cruiser battery. "This is unreasonable, ma'am. This would have vaporized us, the vault, and everything in a thirteen-mile radius."

 _Whatever is inside is dangerous,_ she concluded automatically. For a second she considered retreating and calling a decontamination team to take over, but in either case she would be asked to clear out the site first. "Can you see what's inside that thing?"

"The Bastion, ma'am? Sure, I can try, it should take half an hour, supposing it's not housing an AI."

"If it is, then at least we'll get some answers."

* * *

It had been lonely in the darkness and the cold for so long that the warmth of life was like a bright flame, and its call ignored glass, plastic, metal, stone and concrete alike.

Other things had been warm. People. Men and women. Erstwhile friends and comrades.

Glory hogs. Selfish bastards.

The rushing torrent of memories became a river of black acid as pain turned into rage and rage turned into pain. Jack. The woman, Ziegler.

_What did she do to me?_

* * *

"It's not an AI," Krauze reported. "The original Omnic software has been wiped and replaced with a sentry VI."

"Any clues on who did it?"

"Negative, ma'am."

"Then turn it off."

"Understood, ma'am."

The second gate on the other end of the loading bay was even heavier and sturdier than the first one, and took longer to open. Only this time, there were no defenses waiting for them, but inner lights were turned on.

The place would have been some sort of medical facility, except for the tall cylinder of polished chrome in the middle of the circular vault, kept raised from the floor by means of two mechanical arms holding it by the base and by the top. Many computer screens littered the walls.

The moment they set foot in the place, the screens turned on to depict a blond woman.

"If you're watching this, it means that you have breached the safeguards we put into place to keep this hazard contained. Please, turn back, seal this place again, and never return. You are not aware of the danger you are in."

Everyone was alert at once, but the shieldbearer was also stunned with amazement: "That's… Mercy, ma'am. Doctor Angela Ziegler. She-"

"Shush!" His commander furiously overrode him as Mercy continued to speak. Her face was strained with pain and fear:

"We… I… She tried to save him, but instead she created something that cannot be put down. He cannot be killed, only contained. Please! Go, for your own sakes!"

Shepard turned to Krauze: "Is this a recording?"

Unexpectedly Mercy shook her head on the screen. Tears of desperation rolled down her face: "I'm an AI. She left me behind, modeled me after herself to warn you. You don't know what's in here and you're better off that way. Once he gets free there's almost no containing him again!"

"Why shoot us?"

"You think I liked the idea?" Mercy screamed. Then her voice became subdued, as if the original Angela Ziegler had had to rehearse those words time and time again: "A few deaths is a price she would have paid gladly to prevent all the suffering and horror he… this… would unleash." Again a tearful look. "I know you are soldiers, you're trained to disregard anything but your orders. Please, use your heads. Report this to your superiors and counsel them to restore the safeguards. This must not break out."

* * *

_Oh, doc… aren't you right about that one._

* * *

The soldiers looked hesitantly at Shepard. She was their leader, but Angela Ziegler had been a legend, a member of Overwatch, an agency that had upheld ideals of peace and integration in the most militant of ways - and in the most honest and upright of ways, both while it had been supported by world powers and as a rogue body that had again protected the weak while those same world powers had sat on their thumbs. Their doings had been the moral foundation of the Alliance as it had taken to the stars.

Shepard would not be moved by the reputation of the late Ziegler alone, but a quick examination of everything her team had found, plus the particulars of the place -location, countermeasures, and facility contents- inclined her to follow Mercy's advice. "London actual, this is Shepard," she spoke, confident that the AI would have disabled the jamming by now, and looking at the seals and warnings in the containment tank. "Facility inspection is complete. Presence of level 6 biological hazards detected. This place is not secure. Immediate resealing recommended."

"Shepard, this is London actual, we copy your signal five by five. We acknowledge your detection of level 6 biological hazards. Abandon facility at once and await for arrival of decontamination team."

"Sir, I strongly recommend the complete abandonment of the place." She was not looking at the Mercy avatar in the screens, but she could see the eyes of some of her men who were. And could literally feel the AI pleading:  _please._

"Your recommendation is noted. Decontamination and cleanup will proceed as planned. Abandon the facility and retreat to the entrance."

She had to battle the urge to sigh. "Yes sir." Only now did she turn towards the screens. It was not a real face, only a simulation, but her reason had little to do when her heart cracked at the sight. Again she had to repress an urge - this time to say how sorry she was.

"They will let him out!" Mercy screamed in despair.

* * *

_And I have waited long enough for that, doc._

* * *

Shepard had to force herself to ignore the pleading and begging and warnings of the borderline insane AI, but she had to note the effect it had had on her men. Fisher, her second-in-command, noticed this when her team joined his:

"What happened in there, ma'am? We heard gunfire and stuff but you look like you'd all seen a ghost."

She thought about it for a second, then decided that Fisher had been cleared for that mission as well. "That place's a… an Overwatch vault. I think. Angela Ziegler -Mercy- sealed something in there and left behind an AI to warn us not to open it. She-it was literally crying out to us to reseal everything and leave."

Fisher stared at her long and hard. She did not flinch. At last he sighed and slumped his shoulders. "Alright, ma'am, begging your pardon, it's insane but I believe you. What are we going to do about it, ma'am?"

"Sit back and wait. There's a decontamination team en route. We wait and hand over the site to them." Her voice spoke volumes about what she thought of the whole deal.

"You don't like it."

She snorted. "I should know better than heeding the rants of a mad AI that has been locked alone in the dark for God knows how many years guarding God knows whatever kind of horrible thing is in there, but no, I don't like it."

Fisher nodded seriously. "Ma'am, go with your gut then."

The implied vote of confidence was what decided her. "Krauze," she barked.

"Ma'am?" The engineer came over at once.

"Power up and repair the jams on that Bastion unit. Then interface it with that AI."

A brief silence followed. "According to regs, I have to log your command, ma'am."

"Do it. Then do what I told you."

Krauze nodded. He had trusted Shepard ever since she had become his commanding officer but what she was ordering was borderline suicide. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned towards the rest of her squad. Ricks was the burly shieldbearer that had protected her advance. Akemi was her designated markswoman and Thaler their medic. They all nodded at her without word.

"Fisher," she turned again towards her second, "I want you and Team-2 stationed near the entrance to 'welcome' the decontamination team. The rest of you, you know your drills. We don't know what to expect, but we will act on the assumption that something hostile will come out from within the facility."

"Yes ma'am."

They scattered to take their positions and check their gear for the umpteenth time, leaving their commander alone with her doubts. She was a lowly lieutenant -a promising and exceptionally gifted and skilled but lowly lieutenant- who had been given clear enough orders. What she was doing could be construed as disobedience. Why was she doing it? What kind of discipline was that? Letting her judgment and orders to be overridden by a synthesized voice composed by a program that had every chance of being a fabrication? A fake?

Why a place in near-zero gravity gave her such a bad sensation then? Trust your guts, Fisher had said.

Krauze's voice broke the spell: "Ma'am, it's done."

"Already?"

"Well, ma'am, the AI locked everything down tight and housed itself on a portable memory core. All I had to do was to install it on the Bastion chassis."

"'Locked everything down tight'?"

"As much as the circumstances allowed."

Shepard felt cold despite the many-layered thermal insulation of her powered armor. She did not like a self-aware AI housed on a Bastion, but-

"What about the fusion charges?"

"The detonation mechanism is physically decoupled and disabled, ma'am. There's no simply re-arming the charges."

"Good." She did not know whether to feel glad or sad. Eventually the sensation that she was facilitating something very wrong prevailed.

It was about to get worse. "Ma'am, the decontamination team is here." It was Fisher.

"Send them in."

The team consisted of a dozen men and women clad in heavy zero-g hazmat suits, bulky enough as to make them distantly resemble the astronauts of the 20th century. The lead man's tag read Clemenceau. "Lieutenant Shepard?"

She saluted. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

She could not see his face, but she was certain he was evaluating the disposition of her men and the huge bulk of the reactivated Bastion unit with its rotary cannon pointed towards the facility. "If I remember right you were ordered to stand down."

"Better safe than sorry, sir."

His disapproval was evident but a soldier could not be reprimanded for showing caution in the face of an unknown threat. "We'll take it from here. Your team is relieved from your duties and your orders are to return to the London for debriefing."

She nodded reluctantly. "Begging your pardon, sir, my chief engineer has requested permission to remove this Bastion mech and I have granted it. We are going to need a larger shuttle to accommodate it. In the meantime we would have no problem in acting as a supplementary guard force."

Clemenceau saw no fault in that. If the marines wanted to take apart that Omnic Crisis relic, it was their business. "As long as it does not interfere with our cleanup operations, I have no objections, lieutenant. Just please have it point its guns elsewhere."

The mech did so without any orders on Shepard's command. She found herself wishing she could share her growing unease with someone else, and hoped the AI had been wrong.

Then she got a message from Ricks via the squad private network:  _Will they find the AI?_

 _It's housed on the mech,_  was her reply.

_Why not tell them?_

Shepard decided she had to give that one last try. She started walking towards the second massive gate, under the menacing eyes of the quartet of armed guards now on station there, and she heard the voice of the AI speaking again, word by word, on the same tone-

- _was it a recording?_

Clemenceau turned towards Shepard. "Why wasn't this reported?"

She shrugged. "I have no direct evidence that this was recorded by Angela Ziegler herself, sir. In any case, the warnings on the tank are genuine, and I based myself on those to send my alert."

The man glanced again at the looping message -not a hint of the face being an AI's avatar was present there- and then again at Shepard. "It could be a fabrication, alright."

Another man manipulated a console, and the robotic arms holding the containment tank suspended in midair twitched. There was a screech of metal on metal -more felt than heard- and she felt heartsick for an instant, but the tank did not break. She turned to leave as coolly as she could: "Fabrication or not, I'd take those warnings to heart, sir."

She walked out at a brisk pace. The Bastion's chaingun swiveled on its place and pointed its barrels at the door she had just passed through. Her instincts screamed at her to run to cover, to get out of that loading bay as fast as she could, and she found it increasingly hard to resist those urges, even if that massive Gatling cannon was not pointed at her-

Abruptly red lights started turning everywhere. Messages blared on all frequencies:  _ALERT. ALERT. CONTAINMENT BREACH. SECURITY SEALS HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED. ABANDON INSTALLATION IMMEDIATELY._

"Shepard! What's going on-?" Clemenceau demanded on the spot and turned on his heel to see one of the mechanical arms giving way after an improper maneuver - and cutting a huge tear on the containment tank as it did.

Thick, black, oily smoke leaked out, forming a pool.

The members of the containment team were scrambling to leave already: " _LEAVE EVERYTHING! MOVE! MOVE!"_

The pool now was almost two meters wide. Then it started to shrink in size as it grew in height.

To become a cloaked, masked man.

The half-dozen hazmat-equipped security guards gaped at the erstwhile prisoner in horrified disbelief as he simply crackled its neck joints -joints that had not existed a second ago, that could not exist in a near-vacuum- and glared at them through invisible eyes.

"He's free." Shepard heard the resigned and sad voice in her earbuds. Mercy's.

The man then became a black pool of smoke again, and then shifted into an inky, sentient cloud of living darkness that engulfed the guards, and the frequencies filled with screaming.

Then the Bastion opened up. Shepard, right next to the mech, felt the ground tremble as the powerful Gatling cannon spat a solid stream of shells on the cloud.

Ricks broke cover and took position next to his commander and to the mech, instantly deploying his shield. Thaler followed suit, sidearm at the ready. "What the hell was that thing?" the burly assault specialist whispered under his breath.

"Exactly what we were warned about," Shepard replied quietly.  _And we are alone with him._  "London actual, this is Shepard, we are under attack, the decontamination team is down. Requesting reinforcements."

"Shepard, acknowledged, stand by. Dispatching team Bravo now. ETA 8 minutes."

The lieutenant had no time to frame a reply because there was a torrent of gunfire behind her and she heard a feminine scream -Thaler's- right next to her. Then there was cold, a cold like nothing she had experienced in her entire life, and something she could not see smashed her squarely on her neck. She fell limp against the frame of the mech as she heard screams on her earbuds, and then a weight fell over her. She did not have to tell it was Ricks.

Half stunned, she crawled from under her soldier's body and tried to grope back into her feet, but an armored boot stomped on her back. Icy fingers gripped her shoulder like a vise and turned her face up.

It was a nightmare come true, the visage of the Grim Reaper, if such a thing were real. But  _this_ thing was. Dressing in a long leather coat, brandishing two submachine guns looted from the guards of the hazmat team, it -for, even if it had the shape of a human, it was no longer one-, it regarded her with cold amusement.

Then  _he_  spoke, and she felt that cold again gripping her. And a primal terror unlike anything she had ever experienced, that no kind of training could have helped contain.

_You have set me free. My thanks._


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard discovers what has become of her squad and travels planetside to meet someone who knows about her assailant.

SSV London - Moon orbit

The voice was distant, like echoes traveling down a long tunnel. It took her some time to piece together some of the words: "...think she's waking up."

All was darkness, then something was brought up and the darkness changed to a dull red. It took Shepard a few seconds to actually realize she was conscious again, and the change from black to red was caused by a small flashlight being shined on her face. She commanded her eyelids to open. They felt monstrously heavy and took ages to obey her orders.

The light felt painful and she weakly tried to raise a hand to shield her eyes. An attempt to tell the doctor to turn that thing off only produced a groan of undefined meaning. "Easy," someone said. It was a familiar voice. "Relax. It's okay. You're safe."

"Safe…?" Then her brains worked and the memories of everything that had happened rushed back violently: "My team-!" A jolt of adrenaline coursed through her and she tried to sit up straight, but she was strapped to the bed.

Doctor Rodrigo Cameron shook his head sadly. "Lieutenant… I know this is hard, but we need to ask you what happened there." He raised his head and told a nurse: "Tell the commander Shepard is awake." The woman nodded and tapped a terminal.

"What happened…? You mean there are no recorded logs…?"

Cameron shook his head again. "The technical bits are beyond my expertise, but Seltzer could not explain it. The gear your troop was using was completely fried. You were found alive because that Bastion unit you found put you on a rebreather."

"Which means…" Shepard went even paler than she already was. Tears spilled as her face hardened into an expressionless mask.

"I'm sorry, lieutenant."

She closed her eyes, and but only briefly. As soon as she did, she could see the hooded, masked specter that had slaughtered Ricks, Thaler, Akemi, Krauze, and- "Fisher… Team-2… "

"Lieutenant… this is difficult, but we need to ask you what you saw."

"First tell me how they died."

Cameron was now not only sad, but also uneasy. "They were shot, lieutenant. Some were riddled with holes, but… on top of that… I have never come across anything like it, Shepard. Once we removed the armor, they appeared to be partially mummified, almost desiccated. Both your crew and the containment team were in that condition. Whatever got to them, it went right through military-grade armor."

After Cameron pronounced  _desiccated,_ Shepard was not really listening anymore. Instead, the words of the  _thing_  boomed in her head:  _You have set me free. My thanks._

_Sweet, merciful God, what have I done?_

"You didn't find him?"

"Who?"

Shepard did not move. She answered slowly. "All of this was caused by a single man. The facility was an oubliette. The Overwatch built it to contain something they could not destroy. We found a message warning us about it and I recommended to act on it, but I was overruled."

Cameron stared at her for a split-second in disbelief but did not have time to reply because an officer walked into the infirmary. "Commander," he saluted.

"At ease, doctor. Shepard? How are you holding up?" Commander Paul Lefevre asked.

The woman turned to face him -feeling a sharp pain on her right shoulder as she did so, where the man-thing had gripped her- and glared at him coldly. "I lost nine excellent troopers, sir. I spent three years shaping them and training them and they are gone because someone decided from the comfort of a bridge that their call was better than that of someone who was in place and aware of the situation. Now, sir, begging your pardon, may you please restate your question?"

Lefevre's steel eyes blazed at the thinly veiled reproach but he did not pull rank on her as he could have. Losing good men was a bad hit for any officer and he had suffered through that. "I'll take that as an 'okay'. Still, those wounds are going to keep you away for a while."

Only then did she realize that she was bandaged from the waist up. She had a dull pain on her back and shoulders, and occasionally felt sharp jolts when breathing. Her whole body felt stiff. She forced herself to relax - it was neither fair nor wise to use her superior as a target of opportunity to vent her anger. She would later take it out on Jamison, the XO, if the call had indeed been his alone. "It hurts a bit, sir, yes."

"I know you're better than that, Shepard, but no heroics, you understand? We want you back one hundred percent."

"You just said so, sir. I know better than pushing myself too hard."

"Good." He turned towards Cameron. "Did I miss anything relevant?"

"It's… best if you ask her yourself, sir."

Lefevre did. Shepard repeated what she had just described about the origins and purpose of the facility. Far from acting incredulously, the officer rested his chin on his hand and thought for a few seconds. "What else did you find? Who was this 'man' you speak of?"

"Beats me, sir. But he-whatever he is, he isn't human anymore." Her voice quivered in spite of herself. She was not an easy woman to frighten, which spoke volumes about what she had seen to her commander. "He-it was dressed in a long hooded leather overcoat, heavy boots and gauntlets, and wore a white mask. Like-like the skull of some bird or something. No zero-g suit, no oxygen supply, no nothing. When the con-containment tank was ruptured it simply leaked out, like it was black oil. Then it… it  _adopted_ that human form, and changed into a cloud of smoke. I last saw the decontamination team alive before it engulfed them. How it got behind us…" She shook her head. "Why did it spare me? Why didn't it just shoot me too?"

Nobody could answer. At last Lefevre laid a hand gently on her left -unbandaged- shoulder. "Just thank you are alive." Then: "She will have to be out of action for how long, doctor? A week?"

"To be safe, at least that much, sir. I don't see any cracked ribs, but the shoulder has me worried the most." Cameron brought up his tablet computer. "Have a look at this." The doctor had taken pictures of Shepard's right shoulder. The flesh was discolored, almost grayish in color. "I took a few tissue samples. This is extremely unique, sir, I never saw anything like it."

Shepard stared at the screen blankly. "Show me what happened to my crew." Lefevre was going to say something, but she shot him an incendiary glare. The doctor noticed the exchange and obliged to the request - and immediately the woman wished she had heeded the unspoken advice. Whoever he or she had been, the corpse was literally consumed, ash-gray in color, the skin stretched thin over the bones. It looked like the body of a millennia-old mummy.

She turned her face away from that ghastly image and looked at her bandaged shoulder, tried to move it, tapped it. It was responsive, but besides the dull pain, it felt completely desensitized. "Careful with that," Cameron warned.

"I don't feel anything-well, yes, a slight pain, but-" She struggled with words. "I touch it and I feel nothing else."

The doctor looked at her, then at Lefevre. "Best if I run a few more tests on that."

The commander shook his head. "Get her suited up. I'm sending her planetside. Shepard, come talk to me when you're ready."

"Yes sir."

But, after Cameron and a nurse had helped her inside her uniform, she did not immediately go to her commander. Instead, she took the elevator to the lower decks and to the hangar and armory. The day-to-day routine of the place had been disrupted by the massive relic that now rested against a wall of the hangar. A score of curious marines and technicians surrounded it, but it gave no signs of activity at all.

Except that when Shepard walked into the cavernous space, the cubelike head popped out, moved this and that way, chirped out a few times, and the mech shifted into its walker configuration. Startled, the people moved out of its way, but the mech was immobilized against the wall and could not move.

"Ell-tee!" A holler welcomed her. The hangar was the province of their chief supply officer and armorer, Marcus Seltzer, a man as small and wiry as she was, but much less athletic, and much more of a tech wizard.

"Marcus," she greeted in reply, raising a hand - and immediately grimacing in pain as she did. "Is that thing armed?"

"No, its guns are disabled, I saw to that."

Some of the marines approached her, with a wary eye on the mech. "Good to see you're okay, ma'am," one blonde Astrid Martinsson saluted her.

"Thank you." Shepard returned the salute.

"What happened out there, ma'am?" Another marine asked. The question put her off briefly.

"I don't know if I'm cleared to tell you, Ortiz. What I can disclose is that if some REMF had listened to me my crew would still be alive."

"Hang a big roger on that one, ma'am," Martinsson agreed with an edge. The sentiment was not exactly unknown among the crew. She turned towards the Bastion that was now looking her way. "I hear that this Omnic saved your life. Is it true?"

"Cameron said as much," she agreed warily.

"I couldn't get it to start up," Seltzer cut in. Then he turned towards the onlookers and clapped once: "Alright, showtime's over. Everyone get back to work. I don't need you shaming me before the LT."

The technicians walked away. Martinsson and Ortiz remained with Shepard. She sensed their restlessness. "What is it?"

Ortiz squared himself. "Nothing, ma'am, it's just… If you had picked me instead of Akemi, I'd be dead now."

"Yes, you would be." The lieutenant was blunt. "But that's it. Their numbers came up. Yours didn't. It happens." Besides, Diego Ortiz was a green trooper, not exactly freshly out of boot camp but not the most experienced soldier around by a long shot.

"Yes, ma'am, I know. You do what you have to do."

Shepard's jaw tightened at that. "You got that one right, Ortiz. Clench your fists, beat the crap out of a punching bag or spar a few rounds over a ring if it helps, get it out of your system any way you can. Then you keep going."

"The CO did that after his own fashion," Martinsson quipped as they watched Seltzer go over the mech. "You should have seen him on Tuesday. He literally snapped his vocal cords."

_Tuesday?_  She glanced at her omni-tool and realized it was Friday.  _I was out cold four days?_  Her right shoulder tingled. Unconsciously she tried to ease it off - a mistake, she realized too late. "Damn! This fucking hurts… He tore off someone's head?"

"The XO got a chewing. A bad one."

"Serves him right," was the automatic reply.

"LT?" Seltzer asked. "Would you come over here, please?"

Shepard approached warily. "What's it?"

"'What's it'? Well, to begin with, this is no ordinary Bastion. Look at this." Seltzer had opened the maintenance ports for the machine gun mechanisms, and found that there was no machine gun there. "You remember the Bastion specs, ma'am, right? .50-caliber machine gun, 7.62mm Gatling gun, standard 20th-century specs. Well, look at this." The blue glow of an eezo container was clearly visible amidst the jumble of parts. "Someone jury-rigged a modern gun for this thing. And this mech is  _old._  Look at the stamps. It has sixty years at least."

Mysteries kept piling up. "We've known eezo for, what? Ten years?"

"Not to mention it's expensive shite."

"The most expensive raw material money can buy," another voice cut in. Shepard turned around:

"Sir!" Lefevre was walking into the hangar, flanked by two marines.

"At ease. I knew I would find you here. No worries, Shepard. After all this hunk of junk saved your life."

The Bastion beeped disapprovingly. The lieutenant smiled, wondering who knew that an AI modeled after Mercy resided inside that chassis. "I take it that it doesn't like being called that way, sir."

Lefevre grunted. "Well, if it's an AI, it's earned my gratitude for protecting whatever it could of my men. I'm having it shipped planetside with you."

"Where to, sir?"

"You're going to Numbani. I made arrangements for some people to interview you there."

She was dumbstruck. "Then… it's true, then. This was an Overwatch vault after all."

Seltzer, Martinsson and Ortiz were equally stupefied. "What?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Lefevre waved everyone but Shepard out of earshot. "I have Wenner's and Minovsky's teams scouring the crater, looking for signs of the thing that attacked you. They haven't reported anything yet, but I have the feeling they won't find it. I'm afraid we are out of our depth here, so I'm sending you to talk to the only experts on the matter. Go to the Overwatch Memorial on Numbani. People will be waiting for you."

She took a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain on her back and also ignoring the pain on her right shoulder as she saluted. "Yes sir."

Numbani, Nigerian savannah - Adawe International Airport

Aaliyah had never been in Numbani. Earth was actually a place she had visited for the first time when she had attended the Interplanetary Combatives Training school in Rio de Janeiro, and those had been the two most exhausting years of her life. But she had completed the course, attaining the coveted N1 designation - and had gotten to see the cradle of humanity in the process. South America was a vibrant and vital place, if also a convulsed one. Riots against this or that megacorporation were everyday news.

The names she was seeing now on ads screens around the airport were familiar and a throwback to those days: Vishkar, Helix, Rosenkov. Numbani was, however, much, much cleaner and crispier than Rio. And a sight for sore eyes. Synths and peoples of all shapes and colors crowded the airport.

She had had little time to catch up on her reading about both Omnic Crisis during her shuttle flight, but she had made the best out of it. The exploits of Overwatch were popular culture, but exact facts were much harder to pin down. The agency had collapsed after being repeatedly lambasted for excessive collateral damage - and after an unexplained attack on its Swiss headquarters. The advent of the second Omnic Crisis had seen the world powers impotent to stop the onslaught of the god AIs, and popular support had rallied around the rogue remnants of the agency that took the matter into their own hands until the act restricting their activities was repealed and their charter restored.

And that was pretty much it. Operational records were sealed and classified. Personnel files were sketchy, with only a few names and aliases having filtered out - except for those of the leading members that had catapulted the agency to worldwide fame. Jack Morrison, Gabriel Reyes, Lena Oxton, Angela Ziegler, Hana Song, Reinhardt Wilhelm, Tekhartha Zenyatta. She could recite those names in her sleep. In fact, she herself had joined the Alliance Navy after the discovery of the Charon trans-stellar accelerator, following the example set by Morrison himself: with humanity expanding beyond Earth and into stars far beyond Sol, there would be other worlds that would need soldiers to protect the weak like the Overwatch leader had.

But what had become of them? It was known that Ziegler had perished in battle against the Russian god AI, which had prompted an universal day of mourning and had had the effect of finally bringing the agency out of clandestinity. Wilhelm was reputedly ancient but still alive, leading a modern version of a knightly order - in fact, his discipline and loadout had been translated almost verbatim into the Navy shieldbearer specialty, a role Ricks had fulfilled flawlessly until…

The memory of his dark grinning face brought her out of her ruminations. She hardened her jaw. She had unwittingly released that  _thing,_  but she was going to put it back in a cage. No matter what. Ricks' memory demanded it.

She was led to the cargo area of the airport, where the Bastion sat silent inside a crate. An Omnic attendant had her digitally sign the delivery form, and the crate was loaded on a hovertruck. Then a hovercar arrived, and a slim woman in bright orange pants stepped out.

"Oi, girl! Welcome to Earth!" She greeted her gaily. Shepard was dumbstruck.

"…Tracer?"

The woman giggled, and in the blink of an eye she was right next to her. "I prefer 'Lena' but that will do, yes. How are you? You had a nice trip? Are you hurting much? I understand you're bringing home a friend?"

In spite of her wounds and her grief, Shepard laughed. It was true, then. Oxton was a walking -nay, a running- burst of vitality and energy. "I didn't know I was bringing home a friend, but it makes sense now." She again became serious and started walking towards the hovercar. "About what happened… Some shadow-specter thing. There was-"

"Reaper." The color was drained from Tracer's face.

"So you know him."

"We didn't know what had become of him. Fought him lots of times, luv. The chap's impossible to put down. Angie and Winston spent years trying to lock him up. They never told anyone they had done it."

"Well, they did. And then I fucked up."

"Hey." Tracer held Shepard's hand. "I read what happened. You were overruled by some twat of an officer. Your CO sent us the report. It happens."

"Yeah. I know. I only wish word had reached you sooner."

"Well, the cat's out of the bag now, ain't it? No point on dwelling on that. They locked 'im up once, surely we can do it again. Come, let's be off."


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old faces meet new ones when Shepard travels to Numbani.

Numbani - Overwatch Memorial

A huge fountain was set a hundred paces from the gates to the dome-shaped building, the imposing statue of an angel the centerpiece. Shepard knew of this. Switzerland had donated the monument to honor the memory of the late Angela Ziegler; the features on the statue mirrored hers.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" If she was getting to know something about Tracer, it was that the girl was literally incapable of staying silent for long.

She stared in the stone face twenty meters high, and the pleading, tear-stained visage in the screen flashed in her mind again. The sculptor had done a great job, but had failed to capture that sense of humanity so visible on the AI avatar that had tried unsuccessfully to warn her off. "I'm sorry, Lena. Not words enough."

The cheerful woman misread the wistful tone in Shepard's words. "She has that effect in everyone who visits for the first time."

The lieutenant's sharp eye was noticing other details. The memorial was set in the center of a park some six hundred meters wide. There was no direct line of sight from the fountain to any entrance to the structure, but it was well within sight of four tall obelisks set on each edge of the park. The landscaping was exquisite, but there were no tall trees, only waist-high bushes at most.  _A kill-zone in nearly every direction,_  she evaluated. "I don't remember hearing of anyone attacking this place."

Oxton snorted. "They would have to be out of their minds."

"Well, your crew has never ran out of people wanting to shoot at you." In the past, it was Omnics, then it had been Talon operatives, and then again Omnics. Nowadays, fringe groups of human supremacists hated Overwatch with a passion, but they were exactly that, fringe groups. Or were they? "Damn, I ought to be better informed than this."

A smirk. "A spacer playing policewoman for colonists in strange worlds?"

Aaliyah smiled sadly. "Yeah, it feels like that sometimes. I've lost count of how many pirates and raiders I've put down. Barely half a decade since we've settled new star systems and our space is already infested with scum." _And before then, we had managed to make a cesspool of our own star._

"There will always be chaps like those, luv. That's what people like you and I are there for."

Shepard's smile got warmer and widened. On top of being plucky, this Overwatch legend was also indefatigable. How did she accomplish it? Four tours of duty without setting foot on Earth had already made an insufferable cynic out of her.

"What's the latest news on Pokhara?" Tracer asked next.

"I was stationed there for a few months last year. Some people live there now, but the place's still mostly an Omnic colony. All Shambali."

A nod. "We seldom hear anything about the colonies proper, 'cept for bad news."

"No surprise you wouldn't hear from Pokhara then. I understand a fellow of yours helped set up the place."

"That'd be Zeny, alright. He made the difference."

No guards waved them in when they entered the building garage. After parking, the crate was unloaded and moved into a cargo lift, and sent below. They followed suit shortly afterwards - and arrived to see some people opening the crate while others watched. An angry voice yelled, "Be careful with that, you lot of oafs! Are your heads in your arses? I told you this stuff is delicate twice already!"

Tracer giggled. "Grampy Torbjorn's having his usual sunny disposition."

Then a luxuriously bearded head popped from around the side of the crate, his furious eyes ablaze. "'Sunny disposition'? Why, you little-let's see who has the 'sunny disposition' when you need your chronal core tuned again!"

The girl pouted. "Is that a way to behave before guests?"

"Don't try playing that card with me, girl, I'm old, cranky, and I like my projects treated with care!"

 _'My projects'-_  "Excuse me, sir, but you know what's inside this crate, right?"

A man worked its way through the group of onlookers. Given the color of his hair and the many wrinkles of his skin he appeared to be in his seventies. A cruel scar ran over his right eye socket. "Welcome to the Overwatch Memorial, lieutenant Shepard."

It took her a split second to recognize who the man was. Immediately she drew herself to attention and saluted. "Yes sir, thank you sir. It's-it's an honor." It had taken all of her temper not to feel intimidated by that figure.

Tracer popped irreverently behind Shepard. "Oh well, I see introductions aren't necessary this time around."

The front part of the crate was removed. Torbjorn ordered, "Everyone, clear out! Stand back!"

There was a whirring of wheels, and a small tracked vehicle rolled out of the crate. The moment it was out, the mech shifted from its tank configuration to its walker form and waited.

The stocky Swede looked at the Bastion with a mixture of distaste and wonder, then, as it stood there standing by, went behind it to plug in the necessary hardware. Shepard looked on expectantly as well. Then she noticed, among the onlookers, a silver-blond girl that would be, perhaps, on her late twenties, her features a vivid match of those she had seen on the screens in that facility on the Cabeus crater. Her eyes were glittering with tears.

Commander Jack Morrison approached the mech, looking for signs of recognition. The square head followed his movements. He turned to Torbjorn: "Only a few seconds, Jack, this should be up and going… now!"

In front of the mech, Torbjorn had placed a small holographic projector. In this case, it was just enough to produce a life-size hologram of the late Angela Ziegler outfitted in her Mercy response suit.

Morrison turned to face the hologram: "Angela?"

The projected face saddened. "What's left of me."

Shepard felt her own eyes wet as she saw the girl twist her face and cover her trembling lips with a quivering hand. In the silence, she heard a few sobs.

Someone placed a hand on her right shoulder. She briefly grimaced and turned around - to see… the brown eyes of a masked man clad in a suit of silver armor with neon-green accents. His English was heavily laced with an Asian accent: "We of Overwatch thank you for bringing some of Angela back to us, lieutenant."

She numbly nodded and stumbled forward in the silence. The heads of the Bastion and the holographic Mercy turned to face her. "Hello…" she managed to stutter.

A warm smile spread on Mercy's face. "You're alive. I'm happy to see you."

Tears spilled. "You saved me. You put me on a rebreather."

Torbjorn grinned in relief. "It's what Angie would have done, alright."

The silver-blond girl closed in, but before she could say anything, Morrison turned around to face the crowd: "I think we should give Anika some privacy. Clear out, people."

Shepard followed Morrison and his crew as they made their way to the officers' ward room. She felt so small, walking in the company of such people. "Sir, begging your pardon, please-please excuse me for asking this… but I reckon Anika is Mercy's daughter?"

Morrison nodded. "We don't know for certain what's left of Angela in there, but that's the closest she's going to get to meeting her in the flesh. When she died Anika was scarcely a year old."

"How can you be so sure it's her?"

This time it was Torbjorn who answered. "When we received the distress signal from the Moon we didn't know what it was. Lena here went through Winston's diaries looking for clues until we hit upon their secret project."

"Secret project…?"

"The less people knew where Reaper was, the better, they thought," Morrison mused. "They were almost right."

She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir."

Morrison turned around on the spot and glared at her. "From what your report says, if you had been acting on your own, you could be court-martialed for disobeying direct orders from a superior officer and for indirectly causing the death of your squad, but your actions were instigated by a bad call on part of said officer and your attempt to salvage the situation after your advice was disregarded. And the advice, everyone here agrees, was sound and with good reason. Officers are expected to exercise judgement, and that's exactly what you did. Next time you say you're sorry, have a reason to be sorry, lieutenant."

Probably the court-martial itself would have been less harsh than the on-point feedback by the man whose example had set her on the path to join the military, but the rebuke filled her with pride. If that man had said she had done everything right, then she had done everything right, period. "I'll have those words engraved in metal somewhere so I can see them every day, sir."

Morrison's glare became charged with a spark of pride in turn. "Anytime, lieutenant." He breathed deeply. "Anyway, back to your question," he continued. "Winston and Zenyatta worked together to create a mind-machine interface. I won't bore you with the specifics, but they hit upon a technique to take 'snapshots' of someone's psychological profile."

"Then Angela and Winston finally got the drop on Reaper and wanted someone to keep an eye on him," Torbjorn interjected. "So one of the few times they used this profiler was to imprint her on an AI branched from Athena."

"One of the few times…?"

"Imagine what could happen if this thing is used to imprint the wrong person on an AI," the Swede asked rhetorically.

She nodded. It was not hard to fathom the consequences. "So, they imprinted her personality on an AI, and gave her a sizable database to work on…"

"On top of her journals," Torbjorn completed. "Mercy wanted her AI constrained by programming, ethics, personality and experience."

"As close as you're going to get to a real person," Morrison finished.

"I understand why Anika would be so emotional…"

"We all are." Morrison smiled. She could tell it was not an usual gesture on him. "Mercy was part of the soul of Overwatch, lieutenant. The sacrifice she made… well, I need not telling you about it."

Her mind was beginning to process what she just had been told. "If this ever broke out into the news…"

"It would make for a long series of groundbreaking discoveries."

Unconsciously Shepard eased her shoulders - and once again it was a mistake. Morrison noticed it. "Ah, your wounds. We should have those looked at."

"The corpsman on the London looked them over. He said…"

"Lieutenant, your CO submitted us the complete report of the incident. Let us have a look at that shoulder."

She saw there was no point in rejecting the offer. "Alright, sir."

The current Overwatch medical specialist was one Mila Palukhina. While her name sounded as Slavic as they came, her features were anything but: judging from her slanted eyes, dark blonde hair and tanned skin, her ancestry was a peculiar mix of Latin, Russian and Japanese blood. " _Priviet, Liena!_ " she greeted Tracer. "What do you bring me today?"

"Hello, luv! Meet lieutenant Shepard. She's Alliance Navy. She's had a run-in with an old… acquaintance of ours."

The woman's brow knotted. "Well, I'll see soon enough. Let me pull your medical records…" She tapped a few commands on her own omni-tool while she kept her gray eyes on a screen. She scanned the file quickly and nodded. "No way you would have made it through the ICT course if you weren't in top physical shape. Right shoulder and spine,  _da?_  Okay, there's a dressing room down that hallway. Please undress, put on a gown, and come back here."

It was clear to Shepard that Palukhina knew exactly what to look for. Some gentle probing with her hands, then a thorough and methodical scan with a specific device attached to her omni-tool, then a small sample of blood and tissue drawn. It scarcely hurt or bothered her, if at all.

She was not surprised when the results came back half an hour later and Morrison was present as well. What she did not expect was to see Anika Ziegler there too. Still, Palukhina's face told her everything she needed to know. Her heart sank inside her chest. "I'm sorry, lieutenant, but the news… not good. I wish I had better for you."

Aaliyah willed her face into an expressionless mask. "I'm listening."

"There are signs of… accelerated tissue decay. And at the same time your body is increasing its metabolic rate to compensate… And it's spreading."

Morrison was dour. "Reaper became what he is after he came down with this."

Shepard glared at her. "And he got it how?"

Unexpectedly Anika spoke. Her voice was high and thin. "My mother… she was trying to save him. It was the aftermath of the attack on the Switzerland HQ. Damaged equipment and supplies…"

"Nobody knows what happened," Morrison cut in. "He was almost dead, but Mercy brought him back. In that form."

Shepard tried to apprehend what she heard: "Let me get this straight: I caught some kind of disease that lets me transform into some sort of shadow-stuff cloud?"

"Nobody knows how that happened," Anika answered. "There was an accident. Exactly what happened no one knows. Only my mother did but she left no records behind. We don't know what could happen to you if we let this thing run its course."

At once she began to consider the situation as the tactical officer she was. "Choices?"

Palukhina replied, "Only two reasonable ones. We can amputate the arm and try to implant a limb grown from stem cells. It's a long process,  _da,_ takes years, but in the end you won't notice the difference."

 _Too long._ "Next?"

"We implant you with a bionic arm. Every bit as good as flesh and bone, if not more durable, except for a little maintenance. Some of our own operatives have these. You met Genji Shimada before."

With that name, it could only mean that silver-and-neon-green Asian man. He was indistinguishable from a normal man… except that he was part metal, as opposed to wearing a suit of powered armor. While Alliance soldiers expected to be outfitted with some kind of bionics at some point during their careers, it was never a pleasant thing to dwell upon - least of all when the time for choosing was now. "And if I'm unreasonable and I don't want either alternative, what then?"

Morrison was uncomfortable but answered with his raspy voice: "We help you fight through the disease, if that's what it is, and help you develop and master whatever talents it can possibly grant you, if it grants any. But this is uncharted territory, lieutenant. Let me make it clear for you: we don't know if it's a disease, and we don't know whether it grants you any talents. If you ask me it's more likely it will end up just killing you."


	4. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momentous news abruptly end Shepard's medical leave.

Numbani - Overwatch Memorial

"Let's try again. Hold the charge," Anika instructed. "You can overcome that initial jolt. Remember, you will feel some feedback that will tell you when it's ready for release."

Shepard tried again. The lens in the projector on her left palm glittered, then glowed fiercely with turquoise light. She shaped her hand like the open claws of a bird of prey. Tendrils of energy arced from her metallic fingertips towards the projector and a strong jolt shook her; a tiny sphere of blinding blue-green light flickered briefly over the lens, then it burst with an audible bang.

Aaliyah sighed, closed her eyes and clenched her jaw in frustration, then she eased her shoulders. It felt strange and cold. The limb was fully articulate, light and very strong, in addition to packing an assortment of built-in toys; she would always have a squad-shield generator and an omni-tool on her, for instance. This projector was fancier tech, however.

"The pistol version was much simpler to use."

"Don't worry. It takes time. You have to learn how to use it like a muscle."

"I don't have time. I don't know when I may be recalled into active duty."

"It's worth it, let me tell you. Mother used to work with one of the first true hardlight engineers. She could do miracles with that, and that was before the mass effect principles had been discovered."

The lieutenant rolled her eyes. "Don't get started with that again. Last time you tried to explain to me how hardlight and mass effect fields mesh together I understood exactly zero."

Anika grinned. "I'm sorry. I tend to get carried away sometimes." She handed her a bottle and Shepard drank thirstily. "It's tiring work, isn't it?"

"I'm trying to think of something I've done that compares with it. Some of the biofeedback exercises we did back at the ICT course… we learned how to slow our heartbeats and lower our blood pressure in case we got shot," she explained upon noticing the inquisitive look.

"I never left Earth myself. Too absorbed. Medical career."

Shepard washed away the sweat with a towel and smiled. "Runs in the family, huh?"

Anika shrugged. "Couldn't really think of anything else." She sat on the single bench available on the rehabilitation room and sighed. "Sometimes I think what would have happened if mom hadn't died."

"She died saving the world. If we have to kick the bucket I can think of few better ways."

The girl was silent for a while. It was difficult to tell her apart from the Mercy avatar she had seen in the Cabeus crater. "You know, lieutenant… I didn't think it would hurt this much. I didn't even remember her."

Shepard sat next to Ziegler, searching for words. "My parents live in one of the habitats on Mars. Both mom and dad were career soldiers themselves, gunship pilots. They saw some really ugly things. He lost both legs when an omnium shot him down over Siberia. I talked to him last week, telling him about what happened to me and how the Overwatch was helping me out. He replied that his unit was in the thick of the fight when the news about your mom broke out. Everyone was pissed off that her crew had been on their own and without support. That turned things around." She looked at Anika in the eyes. "Not all tears are bad. If you ask me, I feel that the word 'hero' has been overused, everyone gets slapped with it nowadays." Then she grinned. "But if there is a heaven somewhere, your mother was welcomed there with a fanfare, a standing ovation and a triumph the likes of which no person has ever seen."

Mercy's daughter smiled broadly. "I'll remember those words."

Then Shepard's omni-tool rang. She tapped it, and a hologram popped up: the avatar of Athena, Overwatch's AI. "Lieutenant Shepard, your presence is requested on the briefing room by the commander."

"I'll be there immediately." She glanced at Ziegler. "Guess leave time is over."

"Hold on a second," she requested. "I'm coming too."

As both women made their way through the underground complex, Shepard noticed the hurried strides and dour faces of other operatives they came across. _Something's up._

The briefing room was built like an amphitheater, a circular hall with a high ceiling, which made for great acoustics. The place could seat around a hundred people, and Shepard noticed it was packed tight. All the faces she knew were present: Oxton, Torbjorn, Shimada and, of course, Morrison. They all were terse and expectant.

"Crew, I have news, and it's not the kind we like," the Overwatch commander began dryly. "First, as we all already know, two weeks ago there was a mishap in the Moon that caused an old enemy of ours to resurface." A hologram projector on the round scenario activated to show the grim visage of Shepard's attacker. The briefing room was already silent, but the atmosphere became stifling with tension. "We received news earlier today that Reaper infiltrated an installation of the UN Space Command Authority on northern Scotland last night. The breach went completely undetected until early in the morning today. In fact, we would have doubted it was him, if not for the security footage provided by the Authority…" Shepard stopped listening short of this point, and cared little for the feeds that showed the leather-clad assassin as he characteristically turned into a cloud of smoke and jumped from place to place:  _How the HELL did he get here from the Moon?!_

"Casualties?" an operative asked quietly.

"None", Morrison replied. "This was what prompted me to ask for proof. Reaper chose to incapacitate the guards and lock them up instead of killing them. It's against his MO, but perhaps his prolonged confinement has had an effect on his behavior patterns. It's something we'll have to establish." Aaliyah's stomach churned at this.  _Against his behavior patterns. Sure. Tell that to Fisher, team-2 and my men._

Morrison continued: "Bad news is, he got his hands on some extremely sensitive data that is also scarcely a few hours old. Data that involves a guest of ours from the Alliance Navy." At once she was attentive. "An SOS was received at Arcturus from Pokhara. Lieutenant Shepard, who is here with us today, was stationed there last year and can tell us more about the place."

She stood up on cue. "Pokhara is an omnic colony built by the Shambali, but also has a small human population. It's an arid world, with little in the way of native life. They export rare earths and metals. Last thing I heard was that a vein of eezo had been struck." Heads nodded around her.

"That possibly explains what follows. In the SOS the omnic and human residents claimed to be under attack by aliens."

Thunderous silence followed.

The Overwatch commander looked at all the faces gathered there, one by one, young and old, fresh and weathered. Some startled, most in shock, a scant few only concerned. Then the mix of emotions gave way to the cold-blooded professionalism he expected of them and they looked back at him, expecting to hear more.

Athena, the AI, continued instead. "A few days before the SOS was sent, an Alliance scouting force found and activated another trans-stellar accelerator on a nearby star. Shortly afterwards, all contact was lost with the scouts."

"We have made first contact, ladies and gentlemen," Morrison stated. "In the worst possible way. The Alliance is mobilizing and an alert has been sent for all forces under the UN banner. That includes us. No concrete orders have been issued yet, though I believe we are expected to join in."

"Aren't we ever, sir," a voice quipped.

"That's who we are, people. We are Overwatch," Morrison replied defiantly, and some steady yeses answered his boast. "We've always risen to the occasion, and we won't fail to do it now. For starters, I've contacted commander Paul Lefevre of the SSV London to request some space to billet our squads. He's agreed. Lieutenant Shepard here is to be our liaison. I don't know how many of us will be asked to join in, but those who want to volunteer should report to her." At once scores of hands shot up. "Do it later. Make sure we get all questions about this out of the way first. I imagine everyone has at least one. Layali?" He pointed at a dark-skinned woman with a  _wedjat_  tattoo under her right eye.

"Yes, sir. What do we know about the military capabilities of the attackers?"

Athena answered that, as she displayed fragments of video footage showing fighters of exotic design and large arrow-shaped vessels drifting over purple alien skies. "Analysis of the videos sent with the SOS show that they are disciplined and organised. The message stated that the habitats for humans were not hit, but the areas where omnics resided were shown no particular consideration. They appear to have advanced knowledge of mass effect technology."

Morrison pointed at someone else: "Next? Genji?"

"Have these aliens attempted to communicate? Have the colonists tried?"

"That is, as of this moment, unknown," Athena replied. "The message mentions neither broadcasts nor deputations sent by the aliens stating their demands."

"Who knows how many messages have they tried to send and got blocked out," someone else commented.

"For the moment, Pokhara is completely isolated; any attempts to establish a communication with the colony have failed. Arcturus has discontinued further attempts to deny intelligence to the enemy."

"Next? Cumberland?"

"Any hard data on enemy strength?"

"Only some figures based on long range scans. Given the sensor data, the enemy force is estimated to be composed of at least one vessel of cruiser displacement, four frigates and about a dozen escorts."

"Typical wolfpack formation," Shepard mused half to herself.

"Lieutenant?" Morrison asked attentively.

"Sir, while it's too early yet to jump to conclusions, I believe we have yet to see the true strength of these aliens. Arcturus has usually two task forces fully operational at any time, with a third one rotated out for refitting and upgrades. Each one consists of two carriers and half a dozen cruisers at least."

* * *

As soon as the briefing was complete, Shepard got to know personally all the Overwatch agents currently based on the Numbani complex. They were, as she learned, a diverse lot: experts for every military specialty imaginable, plus an eclectic collection of irregulars with unique skills. The Alliance used the charm of worlds beyond counting and sights outside anything imagination could make up to attract recruits, but pound for pound they could not even hope to begin to compete with the quality of the manpower staffing that agency. Joining it had been her own dream, but she did not have anything like the experience needed to qualify for a posting there. She was a soldier, a good one to be sure, but that was it.

And now, there she was, having dinner on the very Overwatch HQ as she cautiously searched the nets for references to the mind blowing revelations of the day. There were none to be seen, or at least she had found none during the hour or so she had spent looking. Those in the know had no reason to reveal it before it was time, and the elite forces being put on alert were too disciplined to mention it to the media. There was that Reaper bastard, too, but whatever his agenda was, apparently it was not in his plans to reveal whatever information he had.

Someone approached her: "Coffee?"

"Not going to refuse that one, Lena."

Tracer handed her a large mug. "You don't appear to miss your arm much."

Shepard snorted. "Yeah, I have to get used to the cold yet." She took a sip, then immediately put it down: "Holy shit, girl! What the hell is it that you drink?"

"Oh, it's like Italian ristretto but extra strong. Grampy Torbjorn brews it." She smirked. "What were you expecting, some five o'clock Rosy Lee?"

Aaliyah glared at the beverage. It looked like crude oil fresh from a well. "A heads-up would have been nice. Or do I look that wasted to you?" Now forewarned, she took a longer pull. It felt like binging on rocket fuel. She put it down again and shook her head. "Let me guess. Four mugs a day."

"Uh-uh. Six."

Again she snorted. "That explains a few things."

Tracer laughed. "Winston used to make that joke."

"Now that you mention him, I have heard of him a few times already but I heard nothing from him."

Oxton shook her head. "He's… not well. Gorillas live into their forties at most. Winston's pushin' sixty now and spends most of his time in bed." Then she noted Shepard's look: "What?"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, most of what I know about your crew is what I saw in the media while I was a kid… didn't he, um, fix you?"

She nodded and smiled. "Absolutely. I owe him everything, but whom I gonna help if I stand around all gloom and doom because there's nothing I can do for 'im? Mercy and Mila are doing their best, but his time's come and gone. 'Sides, he's all alone now."

The lieutenant recalled what a nasty piece of business the reclaiming of the Horizon Lunar Colony had been and looked aside. "Honor his memory through action?"

"It has to be that way with everyone for me, luv. I'm not going the way o' brown bread 'cause I'm all wrinkly and old. Someone'll have to do that for me."

"If they can." She was both marveled and horrified by the idea. "So you're a goddamn immortal. And a time hopper on top of that."

"There you have it. And the world is only getting bigger." She sat next to Shepard and emptied her own mug in a long pull. "That's better. Now, what's on your mind?"

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees. "Well, there's the obvious… why initiate first contact by bombing the hell out of a colony? We just drew the galactic short straw and of all possible neighbors we got the mean one?"

Tracer shrugged. "Nobody who tried playing big guy here got what he wanted in the end."

"Keyword on that phrase being 'here'. Nobody said it had to be like that elsewhere."

"They got a pattern for doing this, do they? I mean, they had all those fancy fighters flying in formation on that video we saw. They have to make some sense."

"Yeah. But they don't have to make sense to us."

"All we have to do is figuring out how they make sense to themselves, then."

Shepard chuckled and shook her head slowly. Plucky fell well short of describing her. "And put a few high-velocity rounds through their heads if need be."

"If needs be, alright. And the not so obvious?"

"…Reaper's game."

"Oh. It's mighty strange, I'll give you that much. That chap never took any prisoners."

"He didn't show us that consideration." A deep breath, then she shook her head. "You should have seen what he did to my crew…"

"I know, luv. It was not that long ago that I don't remember. Eh, some things, you wish you could unsee."

"I'll drink another swig of this poison to that." She did. It was strong enough to resemble liquor, and she was sure that adding alcohol to the mix would not change the flavor one bit. "I'm not going to catch much in the way of sleep tonight." She was tired, alright, but the huge dose of caffeine was starting to kick in. She closed her eyes, but then opened them wide as the specter of Reaper returned to haunt her again. "Fucking asshole… I swear I'm going to lock him up and throw away the key. Tell me, what was he after when you fought him?"

Tracer sat on the other side of the table. "You have to ask Jack for the particulars. Some of that is still locked up tight. What I can tell you without having him yell at me again is that he made a name for himself hunting us. He was with the Talon bunch and set his sights on any ex-agent he could find. For years we thought he had a hand in Mercy's death, but then I found out about how she helped Winston lock him up. So, what he's after…" She shrugged.

The lieutenant stood up and stretched. "Oh well. I'm not going to waste any more of my time looking for answers at this point then. I should be going to sleep but I could use some more practice with this hardlight projector thing."


	5. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard comes face to face with an old enemy.

Sol System - SSV London, Saturn orbit

" _Tovarich Shepard'yeva,_  I have something for you," Mila had announced proudly after finding her on the PT barracks.

"I'm listening."

"The commander has cleared you for this. He believes you should know about it." And then she had handed her the tablet computer, bid her  _'paka'_ , and left. She had put a temporary stop to her hardlight projection practice to scan the contents: Angela Ziegler's and Winston's research on Reaper's containment - how they had used hardlight shielding technology to create a field he could not breach in smoke form. The intent was obvious: now that she always carried a hardlight projector with her and she was getting increasingly skilled with it, Morrison wanted her to know what to do in case their common enemy came calling.

Now she was a bit regretful of her determined mindset, because there was a * _lot*_  of highly specific technobabble she could only marginally comprehend, and she could not turn to anyone but the other Overwatch crew for help, but they were busy as hell - Morrison had increased the pressure on his teams and was putting them through the harshest training simulations they could think of. Her own crews were undergoing similar challenges, and the difficulty was extreme: being grazed by a stray fragment meant you were automatically out of the fight, which was only logical because there was no way of knowing what kind of weaponry the enemy would bring to bear against them.

And despite that, she refused to put the white paper down until she had gotten the gist of it. Eventually she would have to give up, though, because thoroughly understanding what was all that about required entirely different skillsets and training to those of her own. So far she could get that 'hardlight' had 'hard' and 'light' phases: sometimes it behaved as solid matter, sometimes it behaved as photons, and sometimes it behaved as both. It flew in the face of common sense and was crazy enough to give her a headache -and so it had done once already-, but nobody could deny it worked, and it had been the underlying principle behind shields for years. The advent of mass effect technology meant that nearly unbreachable barriers could be created by combining both - except that nobody had yet figured out how to do so and still fire through that defense at the enemy.

Problem was, that limited explanation still did not suffice to explain the many, many things a skilled user could do with a hardlight projector: temporarily bridge a chasm, create a 'laser whip', or point-defend against incoming ordnance. Craft of all kinds were outfitted nowadays with such systems, but someone whose reflexes were fast enough could do it by hand. It was insanely hard, borderline superhumanly so, but still doable.

She reproached herself for mentally straying away from the topic again, but after a few minutes she had to admit that her mind was simply fed up with that. A glance at the clock, then she put down the tablet, suited up, and walked out of the barracks.

She came upon Martinsson immediately. "Ma'am Doomfist," she joked as she saluted.

Shepard laughed. "Watch it, Shieldmaiden, or you'll find yourself on the business end of it."

The tall blonde smiled. "Someone had to be the first, ma'am."

"You mean everyone's too scared of me to crack that joke at me?"

"Everyone's been too protective of you to crack that joke at you, ma'am."

She had to admit it was true. Her troopers had suffered the blow as well, and even if she had put them through a literal hell in recent days because of the unexplained alert and deployment orders they had received, she had not heard anything more than the usual grunts and complaints. "You've been all great so far."

"Even if you've been wiping the floor with our sorry asses?"

"Have I ever pushed you around without good reason?"

"Not once, ma'am," she admitted freely.

"This is another such time, specialist," Shepard told her squarely. "We wouldn't have such guests on board otherwise."

"Copy that loud and clear, ma'am," Martinsson acknowledged as seriously. Two scores of Overwatch specialists were sharing their quarters. Astrid swallowed her burning desire to ask a dozen different questions: there was a lot of awe and talking alright, but if they would be deploying alongside the stuff legends were made of -a saying quite literal in this case-, just what were they going to find when they arrived? "We are sailing into harm's way, we know it, but we got your back. We all do. Seriously."

Shepard fought hard to suppress the glow that filled her. "That's the mindset I want from you. Now your team is going to need you again."

Astrid knew it was a simulation, and recently they had been getting so stupidly hard that they were pointless and downright impossible to pass, but Shepard was right; she would not put her troopers through such stress without having a damned good reason. "We'll give you the best we've got, ma'am."

The best Assault Specialist Martinsson and her squad could give was far from the best their Overwatch colleagues could do, but Overwatch was the best there was. She would get her troops there, but it was neither a short way, nor an easy one. "I expect no less. Suit up, specialist."

"Yes ma'am."

She watched her go, casually noting how other male troopers followed her bouncing hips with their eyes; one of them noted her gaze and arched his eyebrows mischievously, gesture she accepted with a small grin. Astrid was quite the looker, but men (and women) had quickly learned that she was not one to dick around when someone displeasured her. Which made her job easier. 'Fraternization' problems had plagued the armed forces of Earth enough that the Alliance wanted to have nothing with that and made a point of not abandoning harassed soldiers to their own devices, but if they could take care of themselves, so much the better.

She entered the simulation room herself, donned all the simulation gear and sat to wait for the 'go' signal from the technician, but noticed that three troopers -Salazar, Lemarchand and Aliyev- were missing. She tapped her own omni-tool and sent them an alert, but her mind instantly assumed something was wrong when the alerts rang without being acknowledged. "Harriot," she instructed her new second-in-command, "you're in charge. Direct this exercise as usual."

"Yes ma'am," the man acknowledged her as she took off the bulky helmet. A few queries to the ship AI, and she saw that the omni-tools of the absentees were all on the same place - deck 7, cargo hold 5. She knew without having to look it up that the troopers were at their usual damage control stations.

Except that there were no reports of any damage anywhere on the ship.

She went back to her own quarters and retrieved her sidearm, sent a silent alert to her superior officer, then took the elevator. The cargo holds were mostly the province of non-sentient worker robots and, in the mind of civilian visitors, some marines running unsanctioned moonshine stills; that one was a myth leftover from earlier centuries that stubbornly refused to die, and she had simply stopped correcting people whenever they mentioned it. Recruits quickly learned that the place was as tightly monitored as anywhere else on the ship.

But the place was cold.

Shepard felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand and a slight trembling as a torrent of adrenaline rushed into her bloodstream. Sidearm on her right hand and hardlight projector primed on her left palm, she advanced cautiously down the hallway, jumping from cover to cover, as she approached the passageway leading to cargo hold 1. Nothing. Door closed and sealed. Same thing happened with cargo holds 2, 3, and 4…

The main personnel access hatch for cargo hold 5 was open. Three bodies were sprawled on the floor, two men, one woman - Aliyev, Lemarchand and Salazar. Nobody moved.

Silently, Shepard approached Salazar and checked for a pulse. There. She tapped her omni-tool to send a silent alert to the bridge while her senses went immediately into overdrive, without even stopping to consider why the anomaly had not been reported by the AI. A part of her mind frantically picked at the enigma for a few instants, though: they were all alive, so…

The place was colder than the rest of the deck.

Crates and containers arranged in a grid-like pattern filled the hold, only barely lit by some emergency lights. She looked behind and ahead of herself, saw nothing, continued moving, walked ahead towards the crossroads...

-and her metal arm almost missed the butt stroke that was aimed at her solar plexus.

She found herself staring into the empty eyes of a skull-like mask.

_You just had to come around looking, had you._

Overwhelming terror almost numbed her, and only her trained instincts allowed her to bring her sidearm to bear and squeeze off six shots. Half of them connected and her enemy gasped, but not for a moment did she believe she had knocked him out of the fight. Somehow she managed to summon a shred of composure and her left hand blazed with a hardlight charge, but her assailant batted her fist aside with his gun and her blast went wild. Alarms and klaxons started blaring immediately. Reaper brought up his weapons and she had barely a split-second to raise her squad-shield before he squeezed the trigger. A cold laughter grated her ears:  _Not as puny now._

"You don't know the half of it, asshole," she muttered through gritted teeth and fired again from behind her shield. The rounds punched Reaper around like a rag doll before his form became diffuse and he turned into a shadow spectre that now loomed over her. Immediately she curled up into a ball and rolled away, using the projector to wrap herself in a protective hardlight sheathing. Panting and now behind cover, she popped her defensive bubble for air as she checked the heat on her sidearm, peeked around the corner - and he was gone. "You fucker…"

Tendrils of inky black smoke were all around the place. Panic exploded in her mind for a second when she realized that he could jump at her from anywhere now: too many crates, too many corners, too many places to hide. Quickly she looked around for alternatives, and her instinct shouted at her to get out of the maze and back into the tighter, narrower corridors. She readied up her projector and dashed for the hatch-

-and almost tripped on the boot that stuck out in her way. She jumped over her enemy, rolled on the ground, triggered the squad-shield behind her and squeezed off a blind barrage.

_You don't learn, do you?_

Perspiration streamed down her face and covered her like a second skin. _What does he want here? What's he doing in a military cruiser with 500 troops aboard? Surely he can't hope to kill them all… or can he,_  she briefly wondered, and her blood chilled even more. But this was no suicide bomber, Reaper was as cold-blooded and efficient as murderous mercenaries came.

Then Tracer's voice rang in her mind:  _'he made a name for himself hunting us'._

_He's after the Overwatch crew._

_I'm secondary. I'm not dead, we're not dead because he doesn't want us dead. He wants the Overwatch agents dead…_

She drew upon her training and summoned all of her discipline and focus into slowing down her breath and pulse. Her senses cleared while her mind wrestled with the terror that threatened to swamp her again and grappled with the problem:  _how to use that?_

She was crouching next to the limp bodies of Aliyev, Lemarchand and Salazar, blocking the hatch out of the hold. Armed marines should be coming any time now. The moment they did, the only way out he would have would be to kill everyone, and when that happened she knew that Lefevre would make a grim choice and vent the whole deck into space. Reaper probably knew that, too, so his objective now would be to get past her, whether she lived or died.

_Unless I trick him into thinking I've left him an opening, I'm fucking dead, and everyone on this deck with me._

Her heart racing in her chest, pretending caution, looking every which way, though with all her senses focused behind her, she started advancing, squad-shield deployed and sidearm at the ready.

But the enemy was not lurking on a side passage between the crates, he was stalking her from atop them. Only a wisp of black smoke obscuring an emergency light warned her to raise her shield before a burst of gunfire raked her. Then he was jumping her and enveloping her like a black cloud - and out of desperation she madly triggered her projector. Instead of a built-up charge, the device let out a stream of bright energy that literally attached itself to her attacker, and a stink of scorched metal filled the air. Reaper hissed and pulled away, leaving a trail of dark smoke in his wake. An angry growl reached her:  _You really are starting to ANNOY me!_

"Bring it on," she panted, half to herself, back against a wall, eyes darting all around her as she tried to catch her breath. Her enemy did not give her a moment's pause, but instead of shooting at her he seemed to wait for that exact moment when she was not looking his way - and simply reached for and grabbed her wrists with an iron grip. The pistol fell uselessly to the floor. It was excruciatingly cold, but having already faced this enemy before was probably what allowed her to resist the paralyzing horror and struggle desperately against him, appealing to every ounce of close combat skill she had in the process. Out of reflex she twisted her arms and broke free from the viselike hold, then immediately followed up with twin palm strikes to the ears, but the hood and the mask softened what should have been a stunning blow. The savage kick knocked the air out of her lungs but still she did not go down, pure adrenaline keeping her going, every inch of her being screaming that to fall or to withdraw now was to die. She parried two punches and dodged a knee aimed at her stomach, and riposted with an elbow strike of her own: it was a solid hit, but it did not seem to cause anything. Again the viselike grasp, and then they were trying to wrestle each other into the ground. A tiny fraction of her brain noticed that his breath was colder than a glacier as well: "Just… what… the hell… are… you?!" This time there was no reply other than some stressful grunts: whatever he was, he also got tired.

Then, finally, there were echoes of other voices. Her heart jumped inside her chest:  _TRACER!_  Reaper also heard it and it distracted him for a sliver of an instant, but that was all that Shepard needed: a torsion of her wrist, then his arm snapped. There was nothing, not even a grunt, but it certainly hurt because his struggles lessened visibly; she seized the moment and shoved her left hand into his masked face: "EAT THIS!" A blinding flash of turquoise light, and the black shape was blown away from her, to melt away in smoke upon smashing against a wall.

"Bridge, this is Shepard," she panted after tapping her omni-tool. "Reaper… is on the ship. Cargo hold 5 has to… has to be quarantined immediately."

Armed figures appeared: "She's here!" Tracer was the first to reach her, pistols in hand, her own eyes vigilant.

"Are you alright,  _tovarich_?" A burly woman in powered armor asked solicitously. The tag 'ZARYANOVA' was etched on her breast plate.

"Yes, yes… just…" More troopers were clustering now near the hatch. She caught a glimpse of a woman in a Mercy response suit: Anika.

"Get her out of here," Zaryanova ordered.

"No way!" Shepard protested. "That fucker killed nine of my men and… and almost got three more, I'm not letting him go!"

A man handed her a flak jacket. "Trust the woman," he advised with an Asian accent. "She stood her ground and lived." She recognized him by the contours of his armor: this one was Genji Shimada, the cybernetic ninja. She nodded in thanks.

"You have a squad-shield," the Russian woman noted. "Cover our support. They can use the help."

"He's… after you," Shepard warned between pants. Zaryanova smirked in response:

"Reaper hunted our ranks for years. It's nothing new."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An enormous THANK YOU to Brainsbeforebullets for the proofreading and the advice.


	6. Sleeping Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The expeditionary force readies for the imminent clash with the alien invaders.

Arcturus system - SSV London

The silence in the observation room was colossal. On the other side of the glass, the bone-white mask floated in midair surrounded by a cloud of swirling smoke. No eyes were visible, but everyone could feel the cold glare as Reaper stared at them.

Lefevre was unsettled. "I don't like having that on my ship."

Lieutenant commander Juliana Visconti, the grizzled officer in charge of the marine complement of the London and Shepard's immediate superior, was equally perturbed. She was going to quip that those had been their orders but thought better of it. "At least we got some specialists to deal with him."

The captain scowled and grunted. He had had to vacate the hold where Shepard had held off Reaper until the Overwatch teams had arrived to contain and capture him. The fact that his ship had one less cargo hold available did not bother him as much as the utter and complete  _wrongness_  of the thing.

A few steps away from them, Shepard and Morrison stood side by side, looking back at the masked wraith in silence. Aaliyah had spent most of last night in the medical bay, first, being checked out herself extensively by Cameron, Palukhina and Ziegler, and then looking after her men. News of her confrontation had blazed through the ship and she had been toasted by both her fellow servicemen and the Overwatch agents, but she felt no pride, only unease. It was all a blur in her mind. She could barely remember anything besides the cold and the terror.

"Has he said anything, sir?" she asked quietly.

Morrison shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, "Don't expect him to."

Yet another enigma to add to the pile. What had been Reaper's plan? What had he hoped to accomplish by sneaking aboard? On those frantic minutes she had surmised his targets had been the Overwatch agents, but if that had been the case, then why not simply vanish from the cargo hold after incapacitating her troopers?

Why allow her to hold him off? The more she reviewed the automatic recordings of the fight on her omni-tool, the less convinced she was that she had legitimately defeated him. She had only delayed him. Why allow himself to be captured?

And why had he stopped killing?

The questions had become one too many. "Sir-ma'am," she asked, noticing the imposing presence of Zaryanova behind her, "why?"

The Russian woman noted her unease. She laid one of her strong hands on Shepard's shoulder: "You're smart, but don't be too smart, girl."

"Whatever he had in mind, he won't harm anyone while he's in there," Morrison muttered. And he added under his breath, "And considering where we're going…"

_If worst comes to worst, he goes down with this ship,_  Shepard's mind completed, and she felt ice in her marrow. The London was an upgunned cruiser, but no Alliance ship had ever put its weapons to use against anything heavier than pirates or raiders, which rarely were bigger than a frigate, and not a match for them. The staggering volume of firepower that was being assembled to confront the aliens did not make her breathe any easier.  _If the combined might of the whole 2nd Fleet is not enough to take on one of their cruisers and half a dozen escorts we're all well and truly fucked._

_Goddamn, you're having such happy thoughts today._

An omni-tool rang somewhere—apparently Morrison's, because the man came out of his staring contest with the entity beyond the thick crystal and turned to face her: "The briefing is due in a few minutes. We would like you to join us, lieutenant."

She turned in surprise towards Visconti. Her superior nodded: "It's been arranged. You're one of our liaisons with Overwatch, Shepard. And after what happened yesterday, I imagine they'd want to keep a close eye on you." Her voice was saying something else to Morrison:  _don't you go and steal a promising young officer away from me, you hear me?_

"Ma'am, am I being transferred?"

Visconti let some long seconds pass before answering with a dry and final: "No."

Stunned, Shepard saluted and walked out of the repurposed cargo hold after Morrison and Zaryanova, and cautiously asked, "Sir, what was all that about?"

"You probably have guessed already, lieutenant." The Overwatch commander did not break stride.

She dropped her jaw for an instant, then composed herself: "I'm not leaving my squads, sir. Least of all now."

"I know. We're not going to interfere with that. But supposing this turns out well, I want you to consider it."

_An Overwatch agent. Me._

It was, if anything, the realization of her dreams.

And she was being asked by the man who had inspired her career choice.

"As you said: supposing this turns out well, I can consider it."

"No more than what I asked."

* * *

The troopers stood upright when Shepard walked in. "At ease."

She looked at her men, one by one: Aliyev, Danesti, Harriot, Lemarchand, Lemetti, Martinsson, Moronta, Salazar, Westmoreland. They looked at her differently now. So had the Overwatch crew to an extent, but it was more pronounced among her subordinates. Much more respect, awe even. However, that only made the doubting voices speak louder in her mind. Was she really worthy of that? Or had Reaper placed her on a spot where she would be expected to deliver more than she could?

_Be smart, but not too smart… damn if she wasn't right._ Aaliyah berated herself. She was not a freshly minted officer just off boot camp and still wet behind the ears, she was a veteran marine on her fifth tour of duty, and even if she doubted she had genuinely beaten Reaper, she could not show that before her men. Least of all, considering what was coming up.

"First, loadout news," she started. "We're breaking out the railguns. Standard stuff isn't going to cut it here. Arcturus got one last transmission yesterday." An omni-tool command, and the lights on the ready room dimmed as a hologram projector started running to display fragments of a video.

The atmosphere became so thick a knife could have cut it into pieces. The creatures in sight were obscured by helmets and armor, but at first glance it was immediately evident that they were mostly similar to humans except for their digitigrade stance. They also were taller than the prisoners they seemed to be escorting into a transport vessel of some kind, and wielded weapons not unlike theirs in shape. A pile of dismantled or shot Omnics could be partially seen at one point.

The camera was quickly turned around to show the face of a brunette girl who would perhaps be on her early twenties at best. She was quickly talking in whispers, no doubt trying to record as much as possible without being caught by the invaders:

"There's more, standard issue armor is useless against their guns. Shields and barriers are much better, I think they didn't know what to do with them, though they got shields of their own. They don't take any chances, though, our sniper killed a few of them before they called in orbital strike on his nest. They're freaking good at it, they only hit what they want to hit." Then the image froze.

"That's all we've got," Shepard stated. "We suppose the message was broken down in multiple parts so that at least we would receive some of it." Again she surveyed the faces in the room. Some were livid, some fists were clenched tight. All were pale.

Another omni-tool command, and the video was replaced by a schematic of the colony.

"The aliens have hit hard the garrison and the omnic quarters," she informed, pointed out the relevant structures on the map, and continued, "as the girl reported, apparently they don't deal in nonsense and whenever they came out upon some sort of strongpoint, they blew it to bits from orbit. That's probably why the military governor surrendered the colony yesterday." That elicited gasps on part of some of her men.

The most seasoned of them nodded instead: "Tough on your pride, but if you can't fight back, holding out will only get more civilians killed," Yuri Aliyev noted. He was an immensely strong moustached youth in his mid twenties, his hair dark, eyes green.

Shepard saw that his spot-on comment was met by hard looks: "Our mission is to protect lives, people, not to earn glory," she stressed. "Governor Williams had that mission. Pundits will tear him a new one, but he's down there. He knows what's going on, and did what he judged best. Just remember what happened to me because someone didn't trust my advice."

That worked, she noticed. Still, the redhead, freckled Yelena Danesti clench her jaw. "If we could get there a little sooner—"

Aaliyah cut her short: "We can't. I'll repeat this one again and again if I have to: whoever wins the recon battle wins the whole battle, and so far they have the upper hand." She turned again her attention to the map. "We'll be working again with Wenner's and Minovsky's squads. Our whole company has been assigned two primary objectives: establish a safe perimeter around the habitats and get as many civilians in the clear as we possibly can, and set up gates. I've already gone over this part with the Overwatch engineers: they suggest the best places for that are here, here and here." She pointed, in quick succession, a hangar next to the starport, a warehouse by the strip mine, and a shed by the main power plant. "Before you say it: yes, I know, none of these places are close to the habitats, but when the enemy discovers what the gates are for they will want them shut down immediately and we can't have firefights breaking out near civvies. I also know that we can't cover all three sites by ourselves so we're going to focus on this one." She pointed at the hangar. "Also, a platoon of heavies will be making the drop with us and they are attached to our unit under my command, so we got backup - but they're going to draw a lot of enemy fire so we need to keep them covered."

A few minutes were spent next outlining each one's individual objectives: Aliyev, clearly taking after the Russian national idol, was their frontman and heavy weapons specialist, and he was meant to either bombard entrenched positions with indirect fire or to cut a swath through them in close combat. Danesti and Salazar were their medics, so their duties were pretty straightforward - keeping people alive, "human or otherwise, is that clear?" Martinsson -adequately dubbed 'Shieldmaiden' by Shepard- was another frontliner, but her duty was dangerous - she had to draw and absorb enemy fire, and to that end she had a squad-shield and deployable spherical shield projectors. Lemetti and Moronta were their snipers and spotters, which meant they were to keep their eyes open for threats and priority targets. Jacques Lemarchand and Jane Westmoreland were their engineers and demolitions experts, so they were proficient with hardlight projectors and all sorts of boobytraps, fixed defenses and mines - what they would need to hold on to a position after taking it. Benedict Harriot was her second-in-command, and in charge of the second fireteam. "Questions?"

Martinsson's hand shot up. "What haven't we seen, ma'am?"

"Nothing. Except the details involving orders given to other elements, you're going in with full intel, so ask."

Lemarchand raised his hand next. "Yes, Jacques?"

Despite his best efforts, he always appeared to be partly unshaved, which actually gave him a rather rude look when combined with his gaunt face. "We aren't going in alone, us and a bunch of hardsuits, are we? What kind of support can we expect?"

"Of course we're not going in alone. Ours is not the only company to deploy. We'll be deploying under the largest fighter screen you've ever seen, but that's no guarantee. The skies will be contested at least during the beginning of the op. Besides, of course, we have the Overwatch crew, but they will operate on a different set of objectives."

"Gloryhogs," Westmoreland groaned. She resembled Shepard in many ways: short, slim and lean. Her hair was auburn instead of black, however, and she wore it cut short.

"Since you're of a competitive mindset, Jane, let me remind you they're on our turf. I hope you don't lose sight of the main objective here, people." She squared herself again. "Look, I don't give a flying fuck whether you care about Omnics or not. Once again, this is  _our_ turf, and some shithead of an alien decided to skip pleasantries and introduce himself by shooting the hell out of the place and taking our people prisoner. Big fucking mistake there, mister."

"Fuckin' a, ma'am," Westmoreland retorted with an edge.

"Well, now that you've got your banter, put down the score cards and act like the damn pros you are. That means that after you get out of this room, Astrid, you go to the armory and run a check on the squad-shield and the bubbles you'll be throwing up in a few days' time; Marcia and Yelena, top off your medi-gel tanks and go pay a visit to Anika Ziegler over at the Overwatch barracks to pick up the new Caducei I requisitioned for you; Yuri, you make sure your particle cannon is up to the task and get that barrier engine tested, and yes, I mean you strap on that power armor and get shot at with the biggest gun on this ship; Kimo and Oscar, grab those huge-ass railguns and get ready to punch out some one-way tickets for those bluebloods; Jacques and Jane, you're the geniuses with your hardlight and boom toys so I don't even know what to tell you other than to get your damn gear ready, and those of you who work with Benedict make sure you listen to him damn well, and if you fucking don't, go and get your ears checked out right now. Each of you, you get the message. Get to work. Dismissed."

* * *

Dinner time came and went, but Aaliyah had little appetite and actually had to force the food down. Not that the cooking aboard the London would earn any prizes either, but her mind was… elsewhere. So her visit to the wardroom had been perfunctory, in spite of the attentions and honeyed words of her fellow officers and some of the Overwatch agents present.

Whenever she was deployed planetside and she felt stressed, there were no less than five ways out: go for a workout, get in a ring with someone, pay a visit to the firing range, go to a bar and get smashed, or get laid. She was not planetside, though, so the last two were out of question - and even if she were, the tension about the upcoming deployment did no favors to her mood.

She had already worked out enough for a day, so she grabbed her practice sidearm and went to the firing range—which was nothing other than a repurposed fighter launch tube. In an era of genetically enhanced troopers and weapons with fire control modules networked with heads-up displays and retinal implants, target practice was, in the eyes of those with a transhumanist streak, something going the way of past relics. Some of those very transhumanists were ranking officers and decision makers, but Shepard believed that nothing substituted practice with live rounds. Too many became enamoured with high tech and forgot that keeping it simple got the job done.

"Good evening, ma'am." The range master was a blond, rotund Dutchman, his name Bram Pieterzoon. He reached up a shelf, knowing what was coming next, "What will it be tonight?"

"Rapid fire. Two hundred rounds."

"Two hundred rounds it is, ma'am." A nod, then he handed her two boxes of caseless rounds. He had seen her there often enough to gauge her patterns, so he hazarded a guess, "Blowing off some steam?"

"You can say," she sighed as she walked down to the nearest lane —since it was almost 2300 GMT, everyone else was either on duty or about to hit the racks—, put on the hearing protectors, and waited. The first target popped up. Rapid fire rules granted her one second per target to take aim and fire, which actually was and was not more time than what it seemed.

And Shepard was an expert at it. She raised her pistol with her right hand, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The pistol barked. The target disappeared, then another popped up. Another trigger pull, another bark, and again the target vanished. The sequence repeated itself over twenty times, then it was time to replace the clip.

Pieterzoon gave her the tally so far. The report was unnecessary, as it was displayed on a large scoreboard set on a wall, but the range master had earned the right to his quirks by mentoring many a shooter:

"Point-nine-four."

"Give me a break, Dutch. I'm warming up."

Again she lined up the shot and fired. Twenty-five targets popped up and vanished in quick succession.

"One-point-oh," he reported.

"That's more like it." She gave him a thin half-smirk that quickly vanished. Then she switched her pistol to her prosthetic left hand. Two more clips went down with the same score.

The Dutchman grinned toothily: "So this is the shooting that did Reaper in?"

She rolled her eyes before muttering, "He laughed at them. Didn't even tickle him."

Pieterzoon noted her mood and was going to reply that somehow she had gotten the job done when someone else walked in and he saluted, "Ma'am."

"Ma'am," Shepard echoed him.

"At ease, Dutch," Visconti saluted back. "I thought I'd find you here."

Aaliyah shrugged. "The cantina didn't seem like me tonight, ma'am."

The grizzled officer appraised her with a brown look. "You never were one to go wild while on furlough either."

Shepard turned back to her gun. She loaded a fresh clip, cycled the chamber, and put the safety on. "Too much on my mind to fraternize, ma'am."

"Not the only one with that mood. The cantina is very quiet now."

A shrug, then she pointed at the pistol resting on the stand. "It's loaded, ma'am. Want to give it a try?"

Visconti looked at the tally -point-nine-eight-five out of a hundred shots-, and smiled. "Do I hear a challenge being issued, Pieterzoon?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I never take sides between ladies. It never ends up well."

She laughed briefly, took the gun into her prosthetic right hand, unloaded the magazine, inserted it again, removed the safe, and waited for the first target to appear. Half a minute later, the range master gave the tally:

"Point-nine-two."

"Not bad for a trial round without warming up," Visconti accepted with half a grin.

Aaliyah was uncomfortable, having recalled the brief talk with Morrison after leaving Reaper's holding cell, and decided she had to get it out of the way, now, but her superior officer beat her to it:

"Shepard, if something bothers you, speak freely. I can be a bitch sometimes but I never tore someone's head off for speaking out loud."

She decided to be blunt about it: "Morrison offered me a job, if we all make it through what's coming up. If."

Visconti needed not studying this promising young officer: "Someone else would be out of herself with joy."

"Ma'am… I didn't earn this. Reaper let me win, he can  _turn into a damn ghost and appear anywhere,_  he could have gotten the drop on me six ways from Sunday. He's got a plan." She leaned against a wall. "I've looked at this again and again and again and again. I don't know everything he can do-"

"No one does."

"I know, ma'am, but even so, if I'd been him-" She stopped in her tracks, took a deep breath, and started again: "He killed over ten people simply by turning into smoke and engulfing them, treating armor like it wasn't there. If I'd been him I'd have slaughtered my way through the whole deck if I wanted to. What does he want? I don't get it."

Visconti leaned against the wall too, next to her. "I believe Morrison knows it, too. And knows that you know. He was very smart about it: he's spared you the guilt of abandoning your men, and he's given you the chance to prove to yourself that yes, you deserve it." She turned to look at Shepard. "If you feel you're not ready for Overwatch, then you aren't. But I know you are ready for what's coming, and I don't need to tell you what kind of challenge it is. And that's what's needed of you right now. I don't like having that time bomb ticking aboard either, but if Overwatch can deal with him and they didn't advise us to jettison him into the nearest star, then they also know he has a plan. Whatever that plan is, it doesn't include gutting us."

It was not an entirely satisfying answer, but Shepard found some comfort in the idea that her superior shared her concerns and had examined them as well - apparently as thoroughly as she had done. She returned the look and replied with absolute confidence: "I'm ready for Pokhara, ma'am. I'm ready now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to the following people for their **priceless help and their time:**
> 
> _Proofreading:_ Brainsbeforebullets, BrokenLifeCycle
> 
> _Tech research and brainstorming:_ BrokenLifeCycle


	7. Clash in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleets collide when the Alliance Navy arrives on Pokhara.

Arcturus system, SSV London

It was a sight to behold. The Arcturus 2nd Fleet was probably the largest concentration of firepower mankind had ever put together — except that it was not humanity's struggle alone this time. Fear of a rise of the robots had been present in the collective zeitgeist from the moment robots had been created, and eventually that moment had come, but that uprising had been contained, in part, thanks to the efforts of the very Omnics themselves.

The Systems Alliance was called that way for several reasons. First, it comprised Earth and all of the colonies that had sprung up on the previous decades. Second, it was an alliance. Humans had created Omnics as another episode of their eternal quest to rid themselves of the vagaries of labor and work. However, as it had been the case with slavery, reality had slapped humanity in the face, telling them that there was no escaping it without burdening someone else. Also, they had created life: mechanical, electro-optical, artificial, but still sentient. They had been treated to a rocky start, but Omnics had surpassed their creators in one crucial aspect: they had quickly learned not to hold pointless grudges.

The sheer volume of forces mobilized made it impossible to conceal from the press that that something very serious had happened, but not what. That something would be disclosed today on Earth in minutes, after the fleet had jumped to the Khyar system, where Pokhara was.

"Attention all hands," AIs warned on all ships, "Strike commander John Morrison of Overwatch will be addressing the fleet. Stand by."

The scarred, elderly veteran surveyed the faces arrayed around him. Old and new. Faces he had seen a lot: Genji, Hana, Hanzo, Lena, Torbjörn, Zenyatta. Faces he had not seen so often but that were aching and vivid reminders of people gone: Anika — Angela Ziegler's daughter and near copy; and Layali — Fareeha Amari's daughter. And the future, symbolized by the young lieutenant that had stood her ground before Reaper and survived.

"For as long as humanity has existed, we have fought each other. We have always sought to impose our will on those unlike us, those of different mindsets and ideas and cultures.

"A question we have all asked ourselves since the dawn of time was whether we were alone in the universe. That question has been met with an answer, and that answer is no. Regrettably, we have not met equals in the stars but aggressors instead. Pokhara is now under alien rule, and we have little knowledge of the fates that have befallen our fellow citizens.

"It is a sad thing that, once again, we find in a common enemy a reason to overcome our differences. Let us remember that it took that to unite us, and hope that, when the smoke clears, a newer, stronger alliance will stand, greater than the sum of human and Omnic. For, like on any of the great conflicts of centuries past, we will fight well — and we will prevail. As one."

He paused in silence before concluding his speech just like the soldier he was at heart:

"Morrison out."

Shepard could almost hear the uproar and chaos such revelations were unleashing in other ships of the fleet. Overwatch, here? Aliens? Invaders? She could also imagine officers hollering their troopers into silence or simply staring stonily while they waited for them to shut up.

She wondered how many would remember the stern message instead of the news.

The Overwatch commander gave his crew one last look, then said simply, "Good luck, people. Please don't get yourselves killed down there."

Hana Song looked much younger than her forty-nine years. Having mothered three children had not prevented her from donning her trademark plugsuit. She smirked ferociously and boasted in the manner of the teenager she still was to some point, "They're about to find out just how badly out of their league they are."

"It's always a game for you, isn't it," Hanzo muttered under his breath.

"One I always win," Hana winked at him, then left the bridge to tend to her hardsuit.

Lefevre was too caught up with the tension of the moment to notice the exchanges. A glance to his navigator — a short, pudgy officer with a near-perpetual maniacal glint to his eyes — and a nod. The man sent a few commands to the ship's AI, and a synthetic voice rang all over the ship:

"Battle stations. Translation in six minutes."

Visconti stood behind him. She did not want to put her thoughts into the open: every fiber of her being was screaming  _ambush_.

Her commander read her emotions.  _I would_ , he replied with a grim look. A ship was at its most vulnerable during the first few seconds after jumping through a trans-stellar accelerator, as an attacker could quickly lock in on the pulse of EM radiation and fire before their target knew where they were. Pirates had preyed on civilian and commercial traffic using that trick ever since interstellar travel had become commonplace — and the military had polished the trick into a tactic for ship-to-ship sniping.

On the other hand, if their enemy was smart, they would be wise not to risk setting up a trap that could potentially turn against them, given how little each side knew about each other. Given the information they had received via Arcturus, the aliens were advanced, but they were not that advanced; their technological edge, if they had it, was one they could offset by sheer numbers. He did not like it — there was a limit to the number of drone fighters and craft their forces could throw at the problem — but if there was a price to pay, it would be paid. No alien was going to take over an Alliance colony by force.

_We'll see soon enough what we're dealing with…_

"All stations manned and ready," the London's AI reported. Lefevre nodded but said nothing.

"Commander, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere," Morrison politely requested. It was largely unnecessary since he had authority to go almost anywhere on the ship, but he still was a guest.

Lefevre nodded in thanks and agreement, and replied, "You're excused, sir."

Most of the Overwatch crew left. Shepard followed suit to tend to her own men. The only one not to follow was the motionless, floating metallic monk. Lefevre was puzzled for a second, but his disposition was so serene and calm that he felt it would be disrespectful to interrupt his meditation…

 _Meditation?_ It was surprisingly easy to forget that Tekhartha Zenyatta was an Omnic.  _How can a *machine* meditate?_ He had not had much contact with the Shambali himself except for a brief period during the colonization of Pokhara, and he was old enough to harbor vivid memories of the first Omnic Crisis in all its terrifying majesty.

And still, despite his mistrust of synthetics, he had to admit that his very presence was soothing. His subordinates seemed to breathe easier close to the monk — he certainly managed to lighten the stifling atmosphere by lending some of his calm to those on the bridge. He understood that Zenyatta was there because he decided he was needed there.

In light of the huge bulk of the accelerator on their screens as they approached it to make the jump, that idea was probably right.

"Interrogation signal received," an operator informed.

"Clearance check is green. Tunnel is opening now," another echoed.

"Accelerator has acquired us. Translation in fifteen seconds."

"Gunnery and engineering, stand ready to answer calls," Lefevre instructed.

"Yes sir."

The AI warned, "Brace for acceleration… translation in three… two… one…"

* * *

"Translation complete. Systems check green across the board," London reported.

"No contacts in the vicinity, sir," a ladar operator reported.

"What do we have on the long range sensors?"

This far, Pokhara was barely a greenish dot in the starry void, but the long-range scanners depicted the planet as a largely earthlike world, about one third bigger in volume than Earth, with cloud-covered turquoise skies. Its space was quite crowded: five small moons, a set of large rings, and asteroid thickets surrounded it.

Lefevre had attended the admiralty meetings and knew all about this. If the enemy was determined and had the resources to defend its hold on the planet it would be a challenge. Simply racing ahead and trying to slip through the asteroids meant to risk getting sniped by hiding ambushers. They could counter that by launching their fighters, but getting the two carriers close enough hazarded exposing them to long range fire. "Fall into formation port of the Nile," he commanded, naming the lead carrier and acting flagship for the operation.

"Alert, unknown contacts detected," the AI informed, and the main hologram projector in the center of the combat information center changed on the spot to depict a scheme of the neighboring space between the planet and the relay. Two vessels of cruiser displacement and over a dozen escorts were visible holding station next to one of the moons in Pokhara's orbit.

"They got reinforced," an aide observed unnecessarily.

The navigator frowned and noted, "It stands to reason. They find a colony by an unknown civilization, of course they'll want backup."

"We're going to crash their party regardless, Wilkinson," Lefevre mused.

"Hang a big roger on that one, sir."

"Commander, we have just been detected," London informed.

"How?"

"Low-energy laser designators. Signal source is evaluated to be within close range."

"Some sort of surveillance device?" Wilkinson pondered.

"Something mounted on the accelerator itself, I'd bet."

The gunnery officer and resident XO after Jamison's dismissal, one serious-looking blonde by the name of Bridgette Lechner, was unsettled by the news and moved immediately to deal with the problem:

"Get me the CAG. I want a fighter sweep of the area. Find any enemy listening posts or tracking devices and disable them."

"Yes ma'am," an aide replied on the spot.

"The scouts reported nothing of this," Visconti noted with some disquiet.

Lefevre nodded and commented, "The other side is playing it smart. They saw them, recognised them for what they were, and placed additional surveillance while they called for help." He did not state the obvious: they know we're here.

Only training stopped him from going pale when all lights turned red and alarm klaxons started blaring:

"INCOMING ORDNANCE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

"RAISE BARRIERS!" the captain bellowed on reflex. He hoped it was not too late—

The London was violently jolted by the impact. Some of the operators on the bridge were thrown from their seats, but Lefevre managed to keep his footing — albeit with Zenyatta's help, who had held out an outstretched hand to him.

"Thanks," he uttered huskily, then demanded, "Damage report!"

"Shields are down to ninety-two percent. Particle barriers dissipated most of the energy of the impact. Minor damage to upper starboard armor," London's AI reported.

"Some guns they have," Lechner noted with worry. No Alliance-built starship-mounted cannon could pierce a ship-scaled particle barrier, not even for scratch damage, but the alien weaponry had just done so. Worse still, that powerful defense was short-lived, and they could only count on it for critical instances; the capacitors took two entire minutes to recharge, which in combat parlance was an eternity. When the heaviest guns humans had could sustain a continuous rate of fire of three shots per minute, to rely on particle barriers alone was suicidal, and the armor they had available could withstand that only so much. However miraculous the materials technology of the 22nd century was, it still had to produce alloys that were both workable and impervious to that kind of damage.

"Status on the rest of the fleet?"

"Buenos Aires, San Francisco, Nile and Amazon also took hits, but apparently we got the worst one, commander," an aide answered on the spot.

"New contacts detected," the AI alerted. He noted the position on the hologram projector: the ambushers were roughly equivalent in composition and amount to the force orbiting Pokhara.

"They tried to get the jump on us after all," Visconti noted.

"And it would have worked on weaker ships," he grunted, then looked intently at the map for a few instants and gave his orders: "Set new course two-two-five, angels zero, one third ahead."

Wilkinson nodded, concerned but unable to find fault in his CO's judgment. The heading was calculated from an imaginary axis running through both the accelerator and the Khyar star, while 'angels zero' meant they were to keep their position on the Y-axis neutral relative to the star. The course set put them right between the assailants and the Nile.

"Aye aye, sir. Two-two-five, one third ahead," the navigator repeated.

The ladar operator reported, "Change of aspect on enemy force... enemy cruisers falling to new heading… estimated course is three-one-five, angels minus ten-point-seven."

"They're running away," Lechner realised.

"They believe they can't punch through with what they've got." Well, one must never correct the enemy when they're making a mistake… "Contact admiral Ferriera on the Nile and request permission to pursue."

"Amazon and Nile are launching strike craft, sir," Wilkinson warned.

Involuntarily, Lefevre turned around to look at the swarm of dots on the hologram projector. He had witnessed it directly before. It was a spectacle both incredible and terrifying to behold, because since the advent of mass effect technology, much of the space combat doctrine of mankind had revolved around unleashing and countering swarms of hundreds, sometimes over a thousand drone fighters and bombers piloted by Omnic-derived Lesser Artificial Intelligences and armed both with standard weapons and electronic warfare suites. It was the legacy of the United States Navy, mankind's foremost naval power for much of the 20th and 21st centuries, as it had been their signature power projection strategy — albeit in a much smaller scale.

_Will they have a counter for this?_

A reply came from the Nile: "Permission is granted, sir, but we're not to take our chances. Admiral's own words."

"We don't want to endanger our guests, I suppose," he commented as he took another glance at the impossibly calm Zenyatta, who floated in the lotus flower position thoroughly unfazed by the situation.

Noting that part of the task force had also been sent in pursuit, he then added, "Wilkinson, fall into formation behind the Buenos Aires. Stand ready to support our strike craft."

"Aye aye, sir."

The escaping aliens also were launching their own strike craft, but they were so grotesquely outnumbered that Lefevre pondered what they were hoping to achieve. They quickly closed in with the pursuing swarm of drone fighters, and the fight was joined. It was a valiant effort, but a hopeless one. Most of the AI-controlled strike craft simply hurtled past them and went after their larger prey. If anything, the alien pilots had skill, and their craft were agile and well armed, but the combined use of hardlight shields and particle barriers by the Alliance negated their superior weaponry advantage. Still, hits were scored, kills even, before they were overwhelmed and disabled.

It felt ugly to watch. Enemies or not, they were gallant and brave.

"They shall not come to harm, commander," Zenyatta spoke for the first time.

Lefevre was surprised, but then he turned his attention back to the hologram. Now the cluster of strike craft was getting within range of the aliens' point defenses. Once again, while the batteries of laser turrets were efficient, there simply were not enough of them. The guns quickly went silent as the drones' EW suites did their work.

Then he saw the escorts take a hard turn. The ladar operator informed with some perplexity on her voice, "Sir, the enemy force is radically changing course… coming down to heading one-three-zero, angels zero…"

"Get me a firing solution on the nearest cruiser!"

"We have it, sir. They're heading right at us, it's impossible to miss," Lechner replied, missing the point.

"That's exactly what they want. They won't miss us," Lefevre retorted with an edge before he ordered, "Fire the main gun!"

The main gun, in this case, was a railgun as long as the ship was — some 400-odd meters long, in fact — rated at the equivalent of twenty kilotons of TNT per round. Such guns had been clunky and maintenance intensive in ages past, but mass effect technology had turned them into straightforward mechanisms. They were, in essence, devices that hurled weights at blindingly fast velocity. Simple, but no less deadly because of that.

A muted  _thump_  was heard and a slight tremor shook the London, and a ten-kilo slug of tungsten-coated iron streaked towards the incoming ship. The kinetic energy of the impact vaporized the round in a blast of incandescent plasma.

Lechner reported, some frustration in her voice, "Target is still in movement."

"Sustained fire!" was Lefevre's immediate command.

The situation had been noticed by their sister ships because the other four vessels in their squadron were now firing with abandon. The other alien cruiser took multiple direct hits on its bow and literally disintegrated in a catastrophic detonation that left nothing of it but a cloud of debris. One of the escorts also erupted into an explosion under the sustained attack of the cloud of strike craft around it, but the alien vessels were very fast.

"Target is damaged but still moving, sir, and approaching point-blank range!"

"Keep firing!"

A fifth  _thump_  sent another ten-kilo slug towards the hurt but defiant incoming ship, piercing right through the frontal bow shield and armor plating and punching all the way through, leaving a gaping hole all along the half-kilometer long vessel in the process.

"No detonation, but the engines have died," an aide informed. A quick glance and she had a brief instant to be amazed: the ship was still in one piece, but for all purposes gutted.

"It's still coming in wicked fast," Wilkinson exclaimed, then ordered, "All ahead flank port! Initiate evasion drill!"

"Proximity alarm!"

Lefevre's blood chilled and he paled under the red lights. He briefly and grudgingly admired the courage and bravery of the enemy: they had sacrificed their cruisers on purpose to allow the escorts, much nimbler and slighter, to close in. They were hopelessly close now, surrounded by a swarm of green dots on the hologram projector, but still coming:

"Ring the collision alarm! London, you have the barriers!"

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

As part of a squadron, there was a drill against ramming: each ship would take on a heading prearranged beforehand, and accelerate to maximum possible speed to scatter away and deny targets to the enemy. As it was right now, it was futile; the alien ships were barely functional now, most of their systems disabled either by electronic warfare or direct fire but not all as their crew could still fly them to their targets — which they did — and furthermore, that procedure did not account for an enemy an order of magnitude faster. The London's AI raised her recharged barriers just before the collision, which probably saved the ship but was not enough to stop the impact outright. The alien vessel smashed against the London on its starboard side, its blunt arrowhead-shaped prow smashing its way past layers and layers of armor and venting two whole decks into space. With the exception of the Ekaterinburg, all of the London's sister ships were similarly hit.

* * *

The impact felt like an earthquake. It rocked Shepard's troopers on their seats within their dropship, but everything — including themselves — was tightly secured.

"Is everyone alright?" Marcia Salazar asked, as one of the two platoon medics. A chorus of yeses answered her.

"Everyone out, on the double," Shepard ordered as she unbuckled the safety belts keeping her on her seat. Then she reached for her battle rifle in the rack over her head, and interrogated the AI via her omni-tool, "London, report."

"We have collided with a hostile vessel. The hull has been breached mid to forwards on decks 1 and 2, starboard side," was the clinically-voiced reply. The AI then displayed a small hologram depicting the status of the ship: huge sections of the upper two decks were flashing red.

She grimaced, then asked, "What is your condition?"

"Hull integrity is at seventy-two percent. Atmospheric containment measures have been enacted. Main armament is damaged and inoperable."

The ship can still be saved. She grimly nodded and continued, "You have sent a distress call to the rest of the fleet along with your status report, I assume. Casualties?"

A male synthetic voice spoke then, "Lieutenant, your superiors here in the bridge require help. I am assisting them but their needs exceed my skills."

"Who is this? Identify yourself." The voice was familiar.

"This is Zenyatta speaking, ma'am."

There was a moment of reverent silence upon the mention of the name, but Shepard shifted on the spot from surprised trooper to officer in charge and ordered, "Unpack your gear. We have been rammed by a hostile ship, so assume we've been boarded. Get ready to repel hostiles."

"Yes ma'am." Harriot triggered the manual release mechanism and the door slid open.

"Thanks for the warning, sir. Help is on the way. Shepard out." She cut the link, ran a brief check on her battle rifle, glanced at the door and pointed at two of her troopers, "Aliyev and Martinsson, you're up."

The blond shieldmaiden and the Russian were all business now. She went out first, and immediately deployed her squad-shield as she did; Aliyev was next, particle cannon primed and ready, and stood back to back with her. They performed a complete rotation in full sight of Shepard's and Wenner's troops, senses fully alert, eyes darting everywhere.

Eventually they nodded and gave the all-clear signal with their fists. "No hostiles in sight."

The rest of Aaliyah's men left the dropship. Red alert lights spun and alarm sirens rang everywhere. Kimo Lemetti and Oscar Moronta, the sharpshooters, at once looked uncomfortably at the catwalks overlooking the hangar then glanced at their superior. Shepard nodded and gestured at them to remain alert, then trotted over to her colleague in charge of the 2nd platoon.

"Albrecht," she greeted him, "you up to speed?"

"Mostly. We have a casualty. One of my snipers has a concussion."

"Then leave her. We're moving out. We have to secure decks one and two."

Wenner nodded. They were of equal rank, but in the absence of a direct superior, as leader of 1st platoon Shepard was acting company commander.

"Alright, I'm leaving her with the fighter bunch."

"Do it."

A few omni-tool taps confirmed what she feared: both the CO and her own superior were incapacitated. She went down the chain of command and queried an officer, "Sir, this is lieutenant Aaliyah Shepard. Commander Lefevre and LC Visconti are down. I am taking command of my company and mobilizing to isolate the breached area in case hostiles have boarded our ship, unless you have different orders."

On the other end of the link, lieutenant commander Alexander Kol frowned, then nodded. As the officer in charge of the London's fighter complement, marine duties were far from his province, but he was next in the chain of command, and Shepard was only doing what was expected of her.

"You have my authorization, lieutenant. I don't need to tell you to coordinate your efforts with the Overwatch squads."

"My next call is for their commander, sir, in fact."

"Good. Stay on your toes, Shepard. London reports she's holding together and she's moving out of harm's way but if something unexpected crops up we're dead in the water so I may order to abandon the ship."

She bit her lip and held her words for a second. Awful as it sounded, it made sense — if enemy reinforcements arrived then the London was an irresistible target.

"Understood, sir. We'll make haste. Out."

She was going to talk to Morrison next, but London's AI interrupted urgently, "Alert. Breaching attempts detected on containment doors on decks one and two."

She swore and spurred her troops with a rousing order: "The enemy is in the ship! Move!" The score of troopers needed no further encouragement and they ran towards the exit hallway, weapons at the ready.

"London, what measures can you deploy around the doors?" Aaliyah asked next.

"LAI drones and stationary defenses are online."

She talked to her omni-tool as she ran, "Morrison, are you seeing this?"

"We're on the move," the husky voice replied, then added, "we're going to try and secure deck one. How many men do you have with you?"

"Four fire teams. There's also Minovsky's squad… moving on his own towards deck two," she informed as she quickly scanned the ship schematics, then continued, "Elements from Company One are also closing in and will get there before us, they got some Omnics with them. That's about sixty men in total."

"Let's hope it's enough," came the reply. "Contact me if you have to."

"Roger. Out."

She routed the feed from her omni-tool to her heads-up display to follow the aliens' progress. In four different places, they had almost breached through the containment doors that sealed the bulkhead tight in case of hull breach. The London AI was setting up a slew of obstacles to slow the boarders down, but not for a second did she believe it would stop them. A gut feeling moved her to order her troopers, "Zero-g check, everyone."

Yelena Danesti handled that for her and reported, "Everyone is green, ma'am. We only got emergency oxygen to last each of us for up to one hour, though."

"It'd better be enough."

After some two agonising seconds, she decided to go for the farthest breach: it would take the longest to get there, but there were some maintenance stairwells nearby and if the enemy could get to those they would have access to all sorts of critical areas in the ship, not the least of which was a corridor to the main reactor plant. She only hoped she was making the right call and the rest of the squads could hold them off.

* * *

The mess hall of the ship was, effectively, a mess of turned-over tables and armed enlisted crew, a chaos only compounded further by the alarm claxons and red alert lights spinning everywhere. Some of the men there saw Viktor Minovsky and his team coming in and almost jumped in surprise. Marcus Seltzer recognized him and rushed to report: "Vic!"

"Marcus. How many do you have here?"

"Forty lads. We emptied the armory. About as best as we could do."

The leader of the 3rd platoon did not like what he saw. They were well armed, but almost none of those enlisted men wore much armor other than some shield belts, and if the aliens' small arms were anything like the main guns on their starships they may as well be wearing wet tissue paper. "Alright, we'll get the main exit. You have the enlisted crew take positions around the hall for good fields of fire. You know the drill."

"Aye, ell-tee," Marcus turned on his heel and hollered on the spot, "You heard the lieutenant! Stay covered and don't try to play any heroics today! Just support him and his squad, y'hear?"

Minovsky's squad also got to work. Gonzaga and Collor, his snipers, took position by the passageway they had entered the mess hall by. Abbott and Warren, his engineers, started to set small hardlight sentry turrets on nooks and ceilings by the bulkhead door. Dietrich was his shieldbearer so he had nothing to do right now other than waiting a stoic, sweaty and terse wait. Kandasamy and Tanaka were close-quarters specialists, armed with a combination of submachineguns and concussion grenades, so they waited as well next to Dietrich, equally stoic, equally tense. The two Omnics in their team were, uniquely, medics both: much like humans tended to take after their idols and leader figures, Ororo and Seraph took after Zenyatta.

There was a shower of sparks on the huge blast door on the other end of the hall that told Abbott and Warren to withdraw: "Here they come!"

"Stay on cover! Dietrich, on point!"

The large blast door opened sideways, to reveal the twisted and smoking remains of some ten-odd LAI defense droids in the penumbra, and no sight of the enemy—

—then there was the thunder of a high-powered shot, followed by the tinkling of shattering glass, and Collor's head became a trypophobic nightmare before turning into red mist—

—then there was a fusillade of blue tracers as the aliens opened fire, and a blast of coruscating electricity that enveloped Ororo and Seraph. The Omnics could not be 'killed' by means of circuit overload, but it was enough to knock them out of the fight, albeit temporarily. The enlisted crew and Minovsky's squad returned fire and the corridor became a kill zone.

Dietrich jumped out of cover, however, and deployed his squad-shield. The deflector surprisingly held under the hail of fire, an opportunity Abbott used to prime a concussion charge and toss it to the other side of the blast door—

—but some unseen force held it suspended in midair and the hail of fire ceased until the charge went off harmlessly. "What the—"

Another high-powered shot boomed. A warning signal appeared on Dietrich's HUD, and he reached for a deployable bubble shield—

A silhouette flashed with blue fire on the other side of the door. Gonzaga zeroed in on it and pulled the trigger — but his shot hit nothing but thin air as the silhouette shot forward blindingly fast and crashed upon Dietrich. The shieldbearer was blown away by the impact, then the alien frontliner jumped into the air and smashed his fist on the ground. Kandasamy, Tanaka and ten other troopers were knocked prone by a powerful shockwave that left everyone's ears ringing. A hail of withering fire scythed through them.

"Shite!" Seltzer quickly jumped back to his feet and, ignoring the deadly blue tracers, reached for the stunned Dietrich's belt, grabbed a bubble shield and deployed it on the spot. Momentarily covered, he pushed his back against a wall and shouted desperately on his omni-tool: "To everyone in this network, this is chief supply officer Seltzer! The boarders are pushing us hard, half of Minovsky's squad is down! We need all the help we can get and we need it now now now!"

There were screams and shouts in a language he did not understand when the sentry turrets deployed by Abbott and Warren acquired and fired, riddling one, then another of the aliens with holes before they were destroyed. The engineers noticed the weakness and pressed their attack, causing the raiders to get to cover as they flooded the hallway with hardlight fire. That bought Minovsky some precious seconds to reorganize what was left of his squad: noticing that Ororo and Seraph were still knocked out and in the open, he helped Dietrich back to his feet and together they pushed towards the enemy—

—then he was violently pulled backwards, and wildly spun around some black orb of coruscating darkness. A tiny part of his terrified mind remembered that some heavies used to perform similar feats with their weapons, and there was some trick to escape their pull using their shields, but the same force was pulling from his limbs as if a horse was tied to them. By corner of his eye he glimpsed an armored figure among the aliens, standing much like a human — as opposed to the aliens that seemed to walk on their toes —; his eyes bulged inside his helmet as the figure went ablaze with blue fire, and it made a gesture with its hand that sent some spherical attack rippling towards him—

The explosion sent him flying with incredible violence, but Minovsky was already unconscious before he was slammed against the wall past the serving counter.

* * *

"Shepard, this is Kol. We just lost Minovsky."

Aaliyah did not need to bring up the ship schematics to know who had been there. Her team and Wenner's were laying traps and countermeasures on the passageway next to the still sealed blast door, but the enemy would not take long now. She swore to herself and acknowledged the message, "I understand, sir."

"I'm sending some heavies to plug that hole. Also there is some backup going your way, an Overwatch squad. They'll be there any second now."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good luck, Shepard. Kol out."

She took a deep breath and signaled Wenner, but before she could say anything, she caught some movement on the stairs about thirty meters behind them, and she smiled. She could recognise Tracer's gait anywhere. "Great to have you, Lena."

The girl smirked back and replied with some hard-edged sarcasm, "Well, keepin' all the fun for ourselves isn't very generous, wouldn't you say?"

"Not my idea of fun, that's for sure."

Shepard's eyes jumped to the rest of the squad: Genji Shimada, his brother Hanzo, Mercy's daughter Anika, the bulky Zaryanova, and a sniper bearing a strange canister rifle she had never seen before. Then she saw a huge bulk turn around a corner a few meters ahead, and a hardsuit approached with powerful steps.

The pilot raised a gun-hand and spoke in greeting, "Hello, lieutenant!" It was Hana Song, better known by her  _nom de guerre_ , D-Va. "Jack had us come down here after your CO told us what happened to your fellow squad. Let's show these newcomers how the game is played, then we'll go fix that, what do you say?"

The Overwatch commander had sent the best of the best her way. Aaliyah literally felt the explosion of confidence that suddenly poured from her troopers, but she did not give in to the euphoria. Minovsky had also been a trained and capable officer as every bit as skilled as she was, and still the enemy had steamrolled over him. "I'm not opposed to that, ma'am."

"With all due respect, we don't need no such delight," the sniper said dryly with a thick British accent. "Morrison stated you are in charge here, ma'am. Orders?"

There was a shower of sparks on the blast door behind them then, which prompted a scowl before she replied, "We had planned for an ambush, but there's no time to rearrange things to account for you, so we'll have to roll with it."

"Acknowledged," he nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and quickly sped away to take cover some fifty meters from the breach. D-Va and Zaryanova stood where they were right in the middle of the passageway, and Martinsson joined them there, shield at the ready, suddenly wishing she had Reinhardt's hammer instead of the standard issue submachinegun. Still, she felt stupidly, absurdly confident, and cautioned herself against it.

The door opened sideways. This time they got a clear look at their enemy: seven of them walked on their toes, while a single one seemed to be similar in overall shape to… a human female.

Again the enemy opened with a fusillade, but D-Va lived up to her reputation as she deployed her point defense and not one round went past it. Zarya seized the opportunity and quickly squeezed off a barrage of plasma blasts that sent the aliens scurrying for cover, but not before they had left a corpse behind. Lemarchand and Westmoreland added their own hardlight blasts to the rain of suppressive fire.

Then, where nothing had been before, two more of the assailants appeared, brandishing powerful long rifles, and as one they targeted Westmoreland. Martinsson's shield blocked the shots, but collapsed soon thereafter, and immediately one of the aliens broke cover and raced for their positions, ignoring the withering hail of fire that pelted it—

—but then it stumbled, fell to its knees, and hit the ground hard face-first, its helmet pierced from side to side by a powerful arrow. They caught a glimpse of the rest of the aliens quickly diving for cover again, which prompted Astrid to throw up a bubble shield around them—

—and just in time, because the bomb the alien was carrying went off with a deafening explosion, showering the corridor with blue ichors everywhere. The shield was shattered by the blast, and raised her point defense almost immediately afterwards—

—but by then Astrid had already been hit by a burst of gunfire and gone down without a noise. There was a whistling sound, and then a large dart appeared on her right thigh. Another whistle, and the corridor filled with a thick mist.

The mist did not stop them from seeing a blue fire blazing on the other side of the door. Out of reflex Zarya triggered her barrier — almost immediately before one of the assailants smashed against her on a blindingly fast charge. At once all her dynamos lit up.

She almost felt her attacker's amazement at her resilience and smirked.

_"Spasiba, droog."_

A plasma torch flashed, and her attacker fell with a scream, its legs sliced at the thighs.

At that point D-Va opened up with her chainguns, laying down a deadly stream of suppressive fire that forced the enemy to keep their heads down. Shepard used this opportunity to move her troopers forward and take care of Astrid: "Salazar, get her out of here!" Mercy moved in to assist the medic, while Aliyev took position next to Zarya and nudged her to go behind and wait for her barrier capacitor to recharge. Richardson, shieldbearer on Wenner's platoon, stood ready next to him, shield deployed.

A pulse of lightning and a shower of sparks enveloped D-Va's hardsuit. The guns twitched and went silent, and the enemy made the best out of it: the remaining troopers opened up with a fusillade and sniper fire, which quickly overwhelmed Richardson's shield and forced him to throw up a bubble, but he shouted a warning: it would not last long—

There was a burst of light, and an orb of pulsing and twisting darkness materialized out of nowhere, trapping Shepard, Richardson and Aliyev on its pull. Completely helpless, she could not do anything but staring at the single feminine-looking trooper that readied another attack, alight in blue fire—

Tracer appeared out of thin air right next to the assailant, squeezed off twin barrages with her machine pistols, and popped away the moment there was a flash of turquoise and silver and a black-and-blue silhouette darted right past the ablaze trooper. The alien dropped its outstretched right hand, held its bleeding right flank, and slumped forward. Quickly, its fellows turned around to look for the enemies in their midst, but the ninja was diabolically quick and the girl literally moved faster than the eye could follow her — and Shepard, now free again, seized the distraction to put two bursts straight through two enemy heads. Aliyev further rained explosive plasma blasts on the enemy position, and as the volume of fire died down, he charged forward with a rousing battle cry. Enemy guns peppered his barrier, only adding to the strength of his charge. A wild swing of his plasma torch saw two more enemies horrifically cut apart.

The remaining two aliens had their hands clutched tight on the same disc-shaped explosive devices the suicide bomber had detonated. One of them, Shepard could see, was pressing what could only be a primer again and again, apparently to no effect.

She fired a single warning shot, then pointed her gun at the enemy and demanded, "Surrender, and you won't be harmed," not caring whether she would be understood or not, not caring either whether it was the first time a human was addressing that species outside combat. She trusted her low, quiet and reasonable tone would be clear enough a message.

It did. The aliens dropped their weapons. One of them spoke something that, of course, she did not catch, but she was surprised that she could make something out of its voice — it had a strange echo to it, as if they were two voices speaking almost in perfect unison instead of one. She also could catch its emotional content: the voice was dour, resigned, but determined.

"Collect the weapons and keep your eyes on the prisoners," she hastily ordered and turned on her heel. "D-Va?"

"It's alright," she stated. "Nothing I can't solve by rerouting power."

A nod, then she went behind her hardsuit to deal with her real concern. Yelena and Marcia had stripped Astrid from her armor and were treating her. Her abdomen was an ugly mess of many puncture wounds. The medics had already applied medi-gel to the area and were now treating it with the radiation/nanomachine mixture produced by the Caducei. Shepard was not worried, though. Medi-gel could make troopers come back from wounds far worse than that, and the looks on the faces of her corpsmen seemed to confirm that impression.

"London," she commanded, "report."

The AI brought up a schematic of the ship. She quickly assessed what she saw: Morrison, along with the bulk of the Overwatch squads, had quickly contained the threat on deck one, and then had deployed part of his troop to assist the beleaguered marines in the mess hall on deck two. The hardsuits had thrown back the attackers that had disposed of Minovsky's team and now the whole place was a veritable battleground.

Then her eye was drawn to a cluster of red and green symbols… on deck 7…

"Shit! Everyone, grab your gear and let's go! The enemy is close to both engineering and Reaper's cell on deck seven, they go any further and we lose the ship!"

"I'll have to take a detour to get there," D-Va warned.

"Then take the prisoners and the wounded instead and escort them to the hangar on deck eight with Salazar. Harriot, you and your squad go with them. The rest of you, on me!"

But before they set off, the whole ship shook and rumbled. The London AI reported bleakly, "The San Francisco is lost. The reactor plant went critical and detonated."

The alien prisoner that had spoken before repeated the same words on the same grim tone. It clearly meant something in the lines of how pointless resistance was.

The Overwatch veterans and the Alliance troops looked at each other. "Shepard," Tracer said forcefully, "we're with you."

* * *

It took an awfully long time to get to the cargo holds where the fighting raged, and Shepard despaired as she saw the icons vanishing on the map. When they finally got there, they were treated to the grisly spectacle of corpses strewn everywhere. The resourcefulness of the enemy was visible on the causes of death: concussion, gunshot, electrocution, burning… a few had even been reduced to ice chunks.

" _Mein Gott…_ " Anika was tempted to check on the first body they came across, but grimly held herself in check. They had to save the ship to have chance to save some of these people.

"No time," Shepard uttered quickly, unaware of Mercy's internal struggle. They needed to be urged no further: the sounds of the battle were drawing closer with each step. "To anyone on this network, this is lieutenant Shepard from the Pokhara Expeditionary Force. I'm coming in with friendlies."

"Thank God! This is midshipman 1st class Falcone, we're pinned down by heavy enemy fire by cargo hold 6! We need help here fast!"

"Hold a little longer, Falcone, help is on the way!" She turned around the corner and was again on the same passageway where she had went looking for Aliyev, Lemarchand and Salazar. "Richardson, shield up!"

Fearlessly the shieldbearer jumped forward. Stray blue tracers filled the air. There was no real concentration yet, but the long passageway was strikingly similar to a shooting gallery — only thing was, there were targets and guns on both sides.

Suddenly a pulsing black orb appeared out of nowhere near the beleaguered crew. Three of them were caught in its pull, but the defenders had already paid in blood for some lessons about this: instead of hiding behind cover, those outside the pull of the singularity all opened up at once in a torrent of gunfire, clearly trying to disrupt or kill whoever was responsible for it. It was marginally successful, for still an enemy sniper had enough of a window to take aim at and shoot one of the helpless defenders, but two managed to survive and retreat: "Pull back! Pull back!"

"Shit, they're being torn to pieces here," Shepard muttered. "Yuri, Zaryanova, you're up!"

" _Da, tovarich,_ " the veteran Overwatch agent acknowledged.

"Jacques, Jane, give me some targets," was her next order, uttered through gritted teeth. "Kimo and Oscar, we need you to work your magic here."

"We won't disappoint, ma'am." Lemetti went prone and powered up his huge railgun. Now fire was starting to pour on Richardson's barrier, but that gave him a perfect opening:

"Enemy sniper painted," Moronta reported to his fellow shooter. The target was next to invisible, clearly concealed by some sort of thermo-optical cloaking device, but not invisible enough, as it was outlined on Lemetti's heads-up display.

"On target." The Finn pulled the trigger. There was a sonic boom that would have deafened everyone had they been without helmets, and the railgun slug literally laughed at the shields and armor of the target as it splattered its entrails behind it.

But the thick vapor trail told everyone that there were new players in the game, and the opposition quickly reacted to the threat. Something flashed blue behind cover, and then a cascade of detonations snaked their way up the hall. Richardson braced himself, but the attack simply ignored his shield and the concussions wreaked chaos among the troops, causing little damage but knocking almost everyone prone. Aliyev and Zaryanova snap-triggered their barriers and resisted the attack, but their defense was short-lasting and soon they had to retreat behind cover—

—and then another black singularity appeared, catching almost everyone on its pull. Tracer darted forward, aware of the danger and trying to stop the caster, but the enemy saw her coming and a barrage of suppressive fire deterred her, forcing her to jump from cover to cover. Still, her distraction had the intended effect, as whoever was responsible for the blackhole-like trap — another of those feminine-looking aliens — targeted her with a direct shockwave attack instead of seizing the chance to finish the bulk of the defenders. She dodged it easily, but finding a chink in that armor was an entirely different business and impossible for her to do alone.

But she was not alone. Aliyev and Zarya, released from the trap, at once started pelting the raiders with explosive plasma, while Richardson advanced with shields up. Moronta's railgun boomed and one of the alien's riflemen was blown to pieces. Shepard caught a flash of silver by the corner of her eye, and suddenly all the members of the enemy force — some twenty-odd of them — appeared outlined in red on her HUD, whether visible or behind cover; at once she recognised this as Hanzo's doing and slaved her battle rifle to the output of his sensor arrow, which allowed her to literally pull the trigger with abandon and let the bullets fly on their own to their targets.

The enemy intuited something was wrong when the incoming fire became orders of magnitude more accurate, but for all their tactical acumen and skill they could not cope with the challenge. Shepard's heart swelled when the outlines started shifting from red to gray on her HUD, one by one, and saw that there were only six of them left, all tightly behind cover. "Push forward!"

A single attacker dashed out of cover and turned ablaze with blue fire. At once Aliyev and Zarya readied themselves, knowing what was coming, and were not disappointed when the alien turned into a living cannonball and crashed upon them — to no effect, since the energy of the impact was absorbed by their particle barriers. Two plasma torches carved its legs away—

—but not the hands holding the bunch of explosive discs, Shepard noticed an instant too late.

The detonation sent both Russians flying, blew Richardson away smashing through his shield in the process, and those who were not left unconscious got their breaths knocked out of them. Shepard struggled weakly back to her feet, the tinkling of shattered glass reaching her distantly, as if it was all far, far away…

…glass… was there any glass anywhere in the cargo hold…?

Suddenly her thought processes stopped cold and she went paler than a ghost. Instantly she was wide awake again, aware of the mortal danger that now stalked them, but the assailants saw only her still standing and opened up on her. She pressed her back against cover, looking helplessly at the wrecked window in the observation room next to the makeshift holding cell in cargo hold 5, feeling colder as seconds went by, suddenly shouting silently in mindless rage at the aliens for their stupidity and ignorance, knowing she was going to die in there and her partners in the grave would be some reckless idiots unaware of the hazard they had unleashed.

He was coming.

And on he came, as a cloud of inky, thick dark smoke, almost liquid-like. She closed her glazed eyes as he heard footsteps in the corridor — and waited, stunned and resigned, as Reaper came to her…

The utter cold was now all over her. She felt her lungs shrivel and sting…

And then the air warmed up again.

She opened her eyes just in time to see the leather-clad assassin step right in front of her.

A deep, hoarse laughter filled her ears.  _Isn't this ironic_ , she heard.

The assassin walked away from her and stepped onto the corridor slowly. The attackers at once unleashed a barrage of gunfire on him, but Shepard did not look. She did not need to do it to know what would happen next. What happened next, as he turned into a cloud again and engulfed his attackers like an evil spirit, and the passageways filled with shrill, ear-stinging screams.

Seconds later it was over. An undefinable but still repugnant stench clogged her nostrils, defeating the filters built into her helmet even. She heard again footsteps on the corridor, this time walking towards her. She tried to stand again, to move away.

The boots once again stopped before her.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" A young feminine voice challenged.

Tracer's.

"You heard her." This time it was Zarya. The noises of a particle cannon powering up reached Shepard.

Then she heard the raspy noise of leather against leather. And Reaper's voice. It was different this time. Not as cold, but angrier. "You  _ingrates_. I just saved your sorry asses and all you have to offer for it is more threats. Fuck you."

Aaliyah did not dare to raise her eyes. She only could feel the tension between the Overwatch crew and their… was it their nemesis?

"He's right," a male voice spoke gravely. Hanzo's. "We owe him."

She saw the boots turn to face her again.

"Stand up."

The memory of her dead soldiers came to haunt her then, and that gave her the determination needed to slowly stand to her feet on her own and stare into the terrifying mask.

Never in her entire life had she been possessed by anything like the cold, raging hatred that flooded her soul now.

"Yeah, I owe you. And you owe me. Ten times over, you murderer."

The assassin passed her by and started walking away. "You can continue hating me later. There's killing to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note:_ **BrokenLifeCycle** contributed priceless effort by doing lots of brainstorming, correcting, and reviewing. Kudos to him.


	8. Regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance Navy hastens preparations to make planetfall before reinforcements arrive.

Khyar system

Anika Ziegler walked into the cell alone, wearing a specially reinforced version of the venerable Valkyrie response suit her mother had designed. Instead of wings, this one featured powerful shield projecting arrays, capable of generating barriers based both on hardlight and mass effect fields.

The blue-skinned alien woman hovered a few inches over the floor in a lotus flower position, back turned towards her. It was more of a self-suggestion than anything, but still she could perceive the powerful aura of concentration and discipline that emanated from her.

The alien spoke some words on her own language. The AI installed on her suit translated in her mother's voice, "Such defenses are not necessary."

Again Mercy was impressed by her serenity. "Hello, Valena. I hope I got it right this time."

The alien listened to the synthetic voice and nodded, "You did."

Still, the woman did not move. Mercy walked cautiously around her, and was once again greeted by the spectacle of her eyes filled with white light and her hands cupped around a miniature, blazing blue star. And once again she was reminded of Zenyatta.

"Take it as you may… I really hate to interrupt you, but I have to check you up."

The glowing orb between her hands dimmed and vanished. The light in her eyes also went away, and the woman's legs rested on the floor. She lifted her gaze to meet Anika's, and like the first time, Mercy was rocked — it was so  _humanlike._ The dignity and calm and self-assurance on it spoke of a degree of self-mastery she had seen on her Shambali colleague, but that she never had expected to find on an alien.

"What troubles you?"

Mercy held her gaze, and answered quietly, "Kinship. I feel like I know you."

Slowly the blue woman stood. The loose-fitting clothes she had been given in place of her armor somehow made her even more similar to the Omnic sage.

"And that stresses you?"

A sad nod. "We have wished to meet intelligent life beyond Earth for centuries. Can you… picture how disappointed I am? We have met you as enemies, not as brothers and sisters."

The alien's features softened and she spotted a glimmer of sympathy on the violet eyes.

"Not everything is said and done yet, Anika."

"I hope not."

Without complaint, the alien —she had already told Mercy that her full name was Valena Danaan and her species was called 'Asari'— laid herself on the hospital bed. Her eyes closed and she became expressionless as Anika lifted her shirt and undid the bandages on her lower chest. Genji's blade had cut deep, but apparently the medi-gel worked as fine on Asari as it did on humans, because the wound was healing fast. The same could be said about the grazes and bullet holes on her shoulders and lower neck where Tracer's rounds had punched through her shields and armor. Except for that, this blue woman was the picture of health.

"It's healing perfectly," she informed with a smile.

"You were concerned."

She sought simple words but they were hard to find. Hesitatingly she replied, "I was. Some of your… Turian… comrades did not react well to the treatment."

The Asari's eyes opened but her face did not change.

"How many perished?"

Mercy looked down.

"Seven. I'm sorry."

Valena stared at her. Anika did not look aside and allowed the alien to probe her.

At length, the Asari sat up and nodded.

"Your intent is true. It is a shame that you refused to let me show you what you could have done."

While Anika read no ill will on those words, Valena had — unwittingly? — rubbed salt on the wound. Like her mother before her, she was a healer first. The horribly injured aliens had had little chances to begin with, but they had reacted to the medi-gel with violent allergic reactions and seizures, each of them dying excruciatingly painful deaths. She had been no less shocked herself and the guilt in her soul was crushingly heavy.

"I'm putting myself in your hands if I accept what you propose."

"Yes, you would. And if something bad were to happen to you I would perish. I am a prisoner aboard your flagship, surrounded by your soldiers," the prisoner replied serenely.

With a thought, she asked herself,  _Mom, mom, what would you do?_

"There are things your species needs to know, Anika," Valena pushed calmly, "if we are not to descend into war. This crude translator helps but will not get the point across. And, as we speak, you know that reinforcements are on their way."

Mercy shook her head. "I cannot help but think you're gaining something with it."

"If you have something to hide, you should be afraid."

 _I do have things to hide,_  she anguished. If this 'mind-melding' thing the Asari had proposed worked the way she understood it worked, Valena would get literally priceless insights into lots of things, not the least of which were cutting-edge medical research and Overwatch operational procedures, information that could become critical if they were embroiled in a protracted conflict.

"Can you keep things from me?"

"If I lied, how could you tell the difference?" was the rhetorical retort.

"You're not helping."

* * *

"They haven't left." Rear Admiral José Luis Ferriera, a short, slim, balding man with white beard and moustache, was circling the large holographic projector set in the center of the combat information room. The sensor array was trained on the alien fleet still on station above Pokhara. It was comprised by two cruisers, eleven escorts, and twenty other vessels without discernible weapon ports, reason for which it was assumed these would be transports.

His navigator was of Indian descent, captain, named Viswanathan Chaudhry. He had the round face, darker skin, and small moustache stereotypical of men from that country. "Begging your pardon, sir, I think I understand your surprise, but I'd like to know your thoughts."

"Why would they split their fleet and threw half of it at us, Chaudhry?" was the rhetorical question, which he followed up with the likely answers, "One, they thought they could stop us with that. Two, they wanted to buy time for their troops to escape. Everyone, what do you think?"

"Well, sir, considering the skill, daring and dedication of their boarding troops, I could go with either," the lead officer in charge of marine operations, a rugged Brazilian named Fernando Reynoso, answered clinically.

"But in light of what happened to their vanguard force, if I were in their place, I would have packed up and left yesterday," was the rebuttal of the commanding officer of the Nile, a small, thin, intimidating German woman with icy blue eyes. She was called Ingrid Braun.

Akira Takahara had been Ferriera's intelligence officer for years and this whole affair had left him with a deep, stubborn and possibly undeserved feeling of inadequacy, but that had not clouded his judgment. "As commander Reynoso pointed out, the soldiers our men faced in combat were very proficient and committed to their mission. You do not merely throw away such good troops. I'm inclined to believe something has held them back."

"Like what?" Ferriera asked quietly.

"A promise of coming reinforcements. Failure to evacuate their troops on time. A valuable find on the planet."

Reynoso was going to note such indecisiveness was unusual for the old Japanese officer, but that was a word that fit everything that had happened ever since the infamous trans-stellar accelerator on the neighboring Karam system had been found.

"We don't have that much time," he manifested.

"We don't," Ferriera agreed, "so we're going to retake the planet by storm."

"It's going to be costly, sir," Braun warned.

"I don't like it either, but I have my orders. People better informed and more capable than us has decided that appearing meek will hurt us more in the long run than the loss of some soldiers will hurt us in the short run," he retorted deadpan, irritated and angered by the idea of having to sacrifice men. He took a deep breath and continued, outlining a strategy that was taking form in his mind as he spoke, "Still, we're going to husband our troops as carefully as we can. While their guns are potent, neither their point defenses nor their EW suites are a match for us, so we're emptying the hangars out. Have the fighters scour those asteroid fields. Either they get out of the way or they lose the rest of their fleet. Their choice."

"And we deploy our dropships under the fighter cover?" Chaudhry suggested, disquiet coloring his voice.

"We'll have to task part of the strike craft on SEAD duties," Braun noted flatly. Since they did not know what the enemy had been up to on Pokhara, they had to assume the worst case scenario — the planetary defense grid was operational, the aliens had reinforced it with their own hardware, and they had dug in to wait for relief.

A yellow alert icon popped up on Ferriera's own omni-tool: "Admiral, I have received a burst transmission from the colony," the Nile's AI reported.

* * *

The medical bay of the Nile was proportionally bigger in size than that of the London, and it was crowded to capacity. With Shepard's cruiser sent back to Arcturus for repairs, the marines based on that ship had been relocated to the gigantic carrier. That included some of the people that had been injured on the collision and on the desperate firefight that had ensued afterwards.

" _Tovarich Palukhina,_ " Aaliyah greeted her with a smile. The head Overwatch medical officer was up to her eyeballs, surrounded by orderlies, tablet computer in one hand and tea cup in the other.

" _Tovarich Shepard'yeva,_  you surprise me," she smiled back. She turned briefly to one of her attendants and instructed, "Schedule him for surgery. He will have to get used to a prosthetic foot."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse replied and left.

And then, to another orderly, "Send this one to Vichaiyen. Splintered bones are right up his alley."

"Yes, doctor."

Finally she drained her cup and turned to Shepard again: "Was there anything you needed? How is your arm?" If anything, the breakneck pace did not tire her — quite the opposite, she seemed to thrive in that environment, given her sunny disposition and the glitter on her alert eyes. Organized chaos was her forte.

"My arm is doing great, thanks," she replied gratefully, and added, "In fact, it's doing even better than what I'd expected. My dad told me it would be like that, but I didn't believe him."

"You woman of small faith," the doctor pouted jokingly.

"That's battlefield experience for you."

" _Da_ , you go out there and get all mangled up and then it's our job to put you back together," she continued to pout.

"Hey, not our fault if this time the battle came to us."

" _Da, pravilno,_ " she conceded with a grin, "but you didn't come here to hear me complain. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to know how my men are doing."

"Great, actually. The only casualty that will need some extended downtime is Dietrich. He has to get a replacement arm, like you did. Then Abbott and Tanaka have some concussions but nothing that will keep them down for long."

"And Martinsson?"

"She's doing well, but your corpsmen suggested keeping her in observation until tomorrow. I agreed."

"Good to know," Aaliyah smiled warmly. "She's going to hate missing out on the deployment, though."

"She will hate it a lot more to be stuck here for months on end if something crops up," Palukhina pointed out.

Shepard held her hands open before her. "Hey, I do shooting, not doctoring, ma'am. Where are they?"

"Beds 34, 41, 45 and 47."

"Thank you, ma'am. A lot. Really."

"We never get enough of that," Palukhina pouted jokingly again. "Any time,  _tovarich._ "

She went bed by bed, greeting every trooper — she knew everyone in her company by name —, having a word for each, whether it was a moment to mourn a fallen comrade, some stern or soft-voiced advice, or a joke on how that scar had been earned. Shepard wanted to believe she had the right word for everyone she saw there. Her growing confidence told her she was on the right track, but not quite there yet.

At last, she reached bed 47: "Welcome back, Martinsson," Shepard smiled as she saw Astrid's eyes open.

"Lady Doomfist, ma'am," she joked tiredly and half-grinned, "I just needed to take a nap, that's all."

"And picked the perfect moment for that."

The girl did not look well. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. She noticed Shepard's inquisitive look and asked deadpan, "How do I look? Hospital gowns aren't the latest fashion."

"You've had worse days. Last time you were on furlough and you picked a fight with that Siberian fellow from the Volga, for one."

A snort, and a painful grimace before asking quietly, "How many?"

Aaliyah also turned serious as she answered, "A hundred and sixteen in our ship alone. The Buenos Aires and the Belfast were almost gutted and lost over half their crews. The San Francisco was lost with all hands."

The blonde paled and her eyes glistened with tears. She confessed, "I fancied an engineer on the San Francisco."

Shepard held her hand. "I'm sorry, Astrid."

"We were keeping it quiet… we both knew my spec is about as dangerous as being a bomb tech…" Martinsson was nowhere nearly as stolid as her superior, which only made it that much more painful to watch. Aaliyah thought for a second about asking for his name, but doing so would have been to twist the knife in the wound. Nobody had escaped the loss of the cruiser.

The shieldbearer managed to compose herself after choking back a sob, and added quietly, "We have to... to thank for the Overwatch crew, don't we, ma'am?"

She wondered how she was going to go about it, then muttered, "We have to thank someone else, too."

"Of course… they didn't save the ship all by themselves," was the somewhat bitter retort, missing the point.

Aaliyah shook her head, and replied, "Someone else I held off on deck 7 in the London."

The shieldbearer stared at her, briefly puzzled, then astounded:

"How—what—"

"The boarders set him free," she said simply, then she related the frantic firefight next to Reaper's cell as briefly and faithfully as she could.

Astrid had no recourse but to believe her — after all, Shepard was there, alive and all. "I'll be damned, ma'am. The bad guys release another bad guy who ends up saving the good guys."

"Try walking in my shoes, Astrid."

"Wait—you mentioned that happened in the London? Where are we?"

"We're aboard the Nile. The London had to be sent back to Arcturus. I'm checking up on everyone here before mustering for deployment."

Only then did Astrid notice that Shepard was loaded for bear: she was fully decked in combat armor, a duffle bag by the side of her chair. Instantly she uttered, mortified, "Damn it, ma'am, you're going down there without me?"

"Specialist—no,  _sergeant_  Martinsson, it's okay. You did a stellar job against an enemy we knew dick about, a skilled, well armed and well coordinated enemy that was determined to blow us all to fine dust. And don't get too far ahead of yourself, you're touching down tomorrow if nothing unexpected crops up with your wound. Marcia and Yelena both said so."

Astrid sighed in relief and quipped, "That's better. I didn't want to leave you people in the hands of some wet-nosed rookie who doesn't know which side of the brace faces the enemy." Then a spark lit her eyes: "Sergeant, ma'am? You think I should apply for officer school?"

Shepard grinned. "You stay cool under fire, and you do the right thing at the right moment. Plus you're willing to put yourself in harm's way for your crew. If that doesn't make a great leader, you tell me what does." She stood up. "Tell me in advance before you apply. I'll have another nice commendation letter signed by Song and Zaryanova waiting for you."

Martinsson looked positively better now. It was not enough to mitigate the grief for her lover, but the news had helped greatly. "Thanks, ma'am. Coming from you that means a lot."

Aaliyah hoisted her duffle bag. "Great. Now stop having feelings and get well. I need my shieldmaiden back on her feet."

Astrid saluted. "Aye aye, ma'am. And congratulations on your promotion, too."

Shepard grinned again, knowing she would not have missed the extra stripe on her shoulder, and left her.

* * *

"Commander's on deck!" Harriot barked as she entered the main deck of the dropship. At once the already seated and belted hundred-odd troopers saluted.

"At ease," Aaliyah acknowledged. She was going through the motions out of habit, having seen Visconti deliver such briefings time and time again — and it was a good thing that she was used to that, even if she was the one handling the briefing this time, because her own mind was numbed by the shock of the things she had heard in turn when she had been briefed by John Morrison and Anika Ziegler themselves.

"There's a change of plans," she started, as her mind once again went through what she had rehearsed time and time again. She announced first, "We received a last-minute report from the surface of Pokhara. Here's part of what we got."

An omni-tool command, and the lights dimmed noticeably. Behind her, a hologram projector started playing a video feed: a brunette woman arrayed in light military fatigues was filming herself. She seemed to be in a cellar of some kind, and the background noise hinted at many people moving things or checking equipment:

"Hello, this is ensign Williams, attached to the Pokhara planetary defense force. I don't know if this will get out, but hours ago the occupying force left the civilian quarters. They've fortified the borehole where the eezo vein was struck, but other than keeping people away from there they're not doing anything hostile. The starport is heavily guarded as well, and new troops are landing, but they're not digging in on the town; instead, they're going to the mines. The wide-spectrum signal jamming they had in place was also lifted, so I believe you'll—" something drew her attention away from the recorder in her omni-tool; it could not be heard, but she was surprised by the news: "I just was told that there's shooting, repeat, shooting reported in the mining complex. It isn't us attacking them, but we don't dare get any closer, we don't have anything like the numbers or the guns to storm the place. We can mark safe LZs for deployment. Please advice." Then the video froze.

"Our orders have changed," she noted, and gave the details, "we have to proceed to the LZs the militias have marked for us, secure the starport and investigate what's happening at the eezo mine. Clearly the enemy has had some sort of unexpected problem and we're going to profit from this, but if that same problem can also affect us, we have to be prepared.

"Next, you may have noticed we have guests aboard," she noted, and all eyes were drawn to the two squads that bore the Overwatch crest. "They've been tasked to us as teams PHALANX and SCALPEL. Get used to them because you're going to work with them in a permanent basis from now on."

A chorus of yeses answered her.  _Now, for the really juicy stuff,_  she thought as she continued, "Finally, we have some hard intel about our enemy, the quality of their equipment and their capabilities. It's being uploaded into your omni-tools as I speak. Since we've all finished high school here I should guess you would all digest this carefully on your own, but better safe than sorry."

* * *

"Vulture Theta three-dash-six, this is Nile control. You're cleared for lunch. Good luck out there."

"Nile actual, this is Vulture Theta three-dash-six. Thanks. Initiating takeoff. Out."

The engines of the Montauk dropship — actually, an oversized version of the Kodiak shuttle, and proportionally slower and more sluggish — roared to life and propelled the craft out of the cavernous hangar of the Nile, to join the other five members of the Vulture Theta three flight; then they scattered and intermixed with the fighters covering them. The numbers were staggering: over eight hundred fighter-bombers under LAI control and another hundred and twenty flown by Omnics.

The passenger deck of the Montauk was quiet. There was none of the bantering and chattering that came before immediate deployment. Instead, most were reviewing the briefing on the enemy forces. The rest was lost in thought. Except for a few who appeared to be sleeping, everyone was trying to cope with the impact of what they had been told.

Shepard was not one of the lucky dreamers. Seated among her troops, surrounded by squad leaders and the two senior Overwatch agents present, her mind was on overdrive. A small part of her subconscious wished she had not been entrusted with such a responsibility, but her mind kept that nagging feeling tightly boxed and out of the way, knowing she could not falter now.

Ahead of the dropship flight, the swarm of strike craft was hurtling towards the enemy fleet and approaching them fast.

* * *

Ferriera stared at the hologram. Right now, the drone fighters were close enough to the alien cruisers that, if they were using weaponry equal to that on the Nile, they could open fire on them now.

And yet nothing was happening. Not even some form of evasive action.

"Anything?" He asked the Nile AI and his officers.

"Negative, admiral," came the synthetic reply. "The enemy force is still holding station in a closed formation protecting their transports."

Chaudhry felt tempted to ask what was on everyone's minds, but held his tongue. The strike craft was within reach of long range guns, but still too far to be targeted with point defenses if the previous engagement served as indication. Ladar readouts indicated that they were well within sensor range of the enemy.

"Nile…" Ferriera hesitated a while, not understanding the situation, but as the fighters finally came within point defense range he ordered, "weapons tight until fired upon."

"Acknowledged, admiral."

Seconds ticked on. All the crew on the bridge of the Nile held their breaths as they watched the hologram.

The drone fighters broke like a wave through the alien formation, hundreds of them zipping past the ships, point defenses tracking them. But not firing.

Then there was a reaction.

An operator haltingly reported, "Admiral… the enemy force is on the move…"

"They are pulling away," Reynoso realized and wondered out loud: "They can't be abandoning their forces."

"No, they're letting us through," Braun noted, and added, "They're still maintaining their geosynchronous orbit."

Ferriera stared intently at the hologram, then started giving orders: "Hold the dropships. I want to know what's going on in the colony, right now. Reinforce our watches on the local accelerator and the one on the Karam system. Takahara… try to establish contact with the alien ships."

* * *

"Vulture Theta three, proceed to checkpoint SHORTSTOP and hold station there until further orders."

Shepard came out of her reverie at that. She unclasped her safety belts and went to the flight deck: "What's going on?"

* * *

Some tense ten-odd minutes later, the hologram projector in the CIC of the Nile changed to show a live feed. The main settlement in Pokhara was in full view: there were the hangars and structures of the starport, now brightly lit in the darkness of the night, and there the habitats were equally well lit—

There were flashes of blue on the perimeter of the strip mine, and the blossoming white, orange and red of a fiery explosion erupting from the borehole. Quickly the flashes became an almost solid glow, and gunfire rained on—

"Enhance," Ferriera demanded.

The picture zoomed in. At once it became evident that there was a huge battle raging within the perimeter of the mining complex; the alien invaders were manning the perimeter and literally raining fire on what could only be described as cyborgs, given the many metal parts and blue or red lights on them.

"These are based… on the invaders?" Chaudhry asked, incredulous.

"It seems to be the case," Takahara noted gravely, because that was exactly what the feeds showed: the cyborgs appeared to be some grotesquerie modeled off a Turian married with  _something else_.

"That's why they let us through," the veteran Japanese officer concluded: "Something has went very wrong down there and they can't deal with it alone."

"Tough luck for them," Ferriera growled, then ordered in machinegun succession: "As of this moment, we are effectively an Exodus force. Retask one third of the fighters to close air support. All dropships converge on LZs close to the habitats. I want our ships reconditioned to make space for refugees on the double. Send a CRITIC message to Arcturus and request ships to evacuate the colony." He hesitated a while, then, after alternately looking at the hologram projector and the faces of his officers, he issued one last command: "Activate Reaper and have him stand by for deployment."

"He's under Overwatch jurisdiction, sir," Reynoso noted quietly.

"To hell with jurisdictions," was the sharp retort. "Get it done."

"Yes sir."

"Admiral! We are picking up alerts from the observation post near the Karam accelerator!" That said, the operator depicted the feeds they were getting on a small side hologram projected by the main presenter.

"Enhance," Ferriera ordered, then he paled and breathed, "Here they come."

* * *

Appendix: initial report on alien species encountered in Pokhara, by A. Ziegler

"The enemy forces that boarded our ships were mostly comprised by members of this species. We have learned that they call themselves 'Turians.' The average specimen thus far observed is slightly taller and faster than a human adult. You may immediately notice that they have metallic plates and scales on their skin, but that confers them little in the way of a defense.

"Their senses are mostly on par with that of a human, except for their eyesight; they can see clearly at much longer ranges and the limited studies performed so far reveal that they have five different kinds of cone cells (as opposed to the three usual in humans), which means that they can distinguish colors well beyond the capability of the human eye. It should be safe to assume that any kind of active camouflage available to us is going to be ineffective against them.

"These creatures have blue blood, like some arthropods and mollusks from Earth; like them, they have hemocyanin instead of hemoglobin, but one critical point of their physiology is that their entire biochemistry is based on dextro-amino acids, as opposed to human biochemistry, which runs on levo-amino acids instead. If prisoners are taken and some require medical attention, enlisting the aid of one of their own corpsmen is advised, for merely trying to apply standard issue medi-gel will result on virulent anaphylactic shock and death after seven to ten minutes.

"Their weapons rely on mass effect fields, and are much more refined than our railguns. One critical advantage they have is that a single magazine is worth tens of thousands of shots, since their weapons shave slivers off a solid metal core and propel them at great speeds. A single round fired by one of their assault rifles has twice as much muzzle energy as one fired by ours, despite the much smaller caliber.

"We have found, however, that the enemy has absolutely no knowledge of hardlight technology, and while they can eventually defeat our shields, they fare poorly against them. Particle barriers are extremely effective defenses as well. Also, their weapons suffer from overheating issues after extended firing, but firing in short bursts mostly negates this problem. Larger weapons like sniper rifles work on similar principles, and both their strengths and their weaknesses are magnified — their anti-materiel rifles are almost as powerful as a first-generation railgun, while requiring about five percent of the energy we use to propel our slugs, but they lack semi-automatic fire capability.

"A few of the boarders belonged to a different species. They are known as 'Asari'. While we have observed both males and females among the Turians, every Asari we have met thus far has feminine characteristics and greatly resembles a human female, except for their skin pigmentation, fleshy growths instead of hair, and lack of ears. Despite that, they have good hearing and their eyesight is similar to that of a healthy adult human. Their biochemistry is based in levo-amino acids and strikingly humanlike, despite their blood being purple in color, a quirk we speculate to be due to the presence of high levels of an organic compound heavy on element zero. Medi-gel works well on them, as also do Caduceus-based radiation-nanomachine treatments.

"Asari can create, manipulate and project mass effect fields and kinetic forces without using weapons or instruments. A visible signature of this ability is that they will glow visibly with blue light akin to fire before unleashing their talents. While they have been observed producing point singularities, using psychokinesis allowing for anything between fine motor manipulation and compressing metal, explosively disrupting conflicting mass effect fields, and projecting shockwaves, the true extent of their capabilities is an enigma. Some of the talents displayed were dependent on concentration, but some others were not, so no rule of thumb can be provided as of this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note:_ As usual, kudos to **BrokenLifeCycle** for his priceless help. Also, **Reikson** gets brownie points for pointing out Asari blood to be purple instead of red.


	9. Operation Dynamo - Beachhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance finally makes planetfall, only to find itself facing a different kind of enemy.

Khyar system

The ride on the Montauk's passenger deck became bumpy and rough as the dropship started its descent. Palms sweated, hearts raced. There was now a little banter, especially among the experienced marines that were experts at dealing with such insertions. The dropship had no windows, but the rollercoaster-like ride was a clear indication that they were going through some cloud cover.

Then the shocks passed, and the seatbelt light went off: "Approaching LZ. Deployment in three minutes," a synthesized voice announced.

"That's our call, people, get ready!" Shepard hollered.

The passenger deck became a frenzy of activity as troopers unclasped their seat belts and readied their weapons and equipment. Fresh magazines were jammed into rifles, hardlight projectors powered up, shield arrays recycled and tested.

The Montauk decelerated notably. They were very near their destination now. Alarm klaxons and rotating lights turned on, and synthesized voices warned the troopers to stay clear from the ramp… everyone braced for the landing as the ramp started opening and the roar of the wind flooded the deck…

There was a thump, and before the ramp had touched the ground troopers were already storming out of the dropship at the sound of Shepard's rousing, "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

Militia deployed around the LZ were waving them towards a nearby habitat, a tall structure of honeycombed metal and crystal. Shepard took a brief look at the starry night sky, and noted that dropships were landing everywhere without a problem, the myriad fighter craft zipping past them. It was a very busy sky, but there was no anti-aircraft fire at all… and yet the distant thunder of gunfire reached her…

"Harriot, find out who's in charge of this outfit!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

As she watched another dropship unload its cargo of hardsuits and Bulwark mechs — a cutting-edge take on the Bastion units that had been the mainstay opponents of Overwatch during the First Omnic Crisis —, a brunette woman in light fatigues was brought before her. She saluted at once: "Ensign Ashley Williams reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"At ease, ensign," was the automatic reply, and then, "Any news on your father?"

"Negative, ma'am. Prisoners usually were taken to the starport. We have heard nothing about them yet," was the sober answer, but Shepard detected brittleness in her demeanor. Well, who wouldn't be anxious in her place?

Then her omni-tool flashed: "Shepard, this is Reynoso," the rugged Brazilian said on her earphones. "Enemy reinforcements have arrived. Disregard all previous objectives, except for establishing a secure perimeter and setting up gates. You are authorized to use lethal force in self-defense only."  _WHAT?!_  "Is that clear, lieutenant commander?"

"Yes… yes, sir."

"Good. Reynoso out."

She stood flabbergasted for an instant, but before anyone could comment on her surprise, she issued new orders: "Set up strong points and barricade the streets. I want this place turned into a fortress yesterday. Bulwarks and company elements manning the guard posts, hardsuits and PHALANX team on reserve to deal with sneak attacks. SCALPEL team and command squad, we're moving out to deploy gates." Without waiting for responses, she turned to Williams: "You heard what I said. Select four men and put together a fire-team to assist us."

Ashley saluted, her eyes flashing: "Yes ma'am."

* * *

Their objective was a secondary power array, originally the first power plant to be built in the colony, and the closest one to the habitats. It was, nonetheless, a large installation, as it had to be to house the Tokamak fusion reactor.

"I see no sentinels, ma'am, not even the mechs the militia told us about," one of the Overwatch operatives reported as she lowered her canister rifle, a weapon not unlike that of the sniper that had assisted her aboard the London.

Shepard took another look at the compound. The large building was surrounded by a series of transformers and large ducts going underground to power other colony installations. Behind it, the sky flashed with the occasional explosions and blue tracers erupting from the mines.  _What the hell is going on down there?_

"Leaving this place unguarded makes no damn sense at all," she uttered in frustration. "Keep looking, Kaname, I don't buy it. Williams?"

"They had people here," she answered. "Actually the only ones they let in were those in charge of maintaining it, plus their 'droid' assistants."

"'Droid' assistants?" One of the three omnics present repeated in puzzlement. This one was an engineer, armed with hardlight projectors and deployable traps and defenses. She went by the alias of Lumiscant.

"Yeah, they were really twitchy about sentient AIs, so we tried our best to pass them by as dumb worker droids. Still, they got a hint of something because at some point they started taking apart every omnic they could lay their hands on."

No one missed how she clenched her metal fists. "So it's not enough that our own creators used to hunt us, now we have aliens to contend with," she uttered with both disappointment and anger.

Shepard was checking the possible approaches, looking for a way in that did not require running into the open without cover, but there was no such thing as a safe route.

"I don't like this, but we'll have to take our chances," she stated, and as she spoke the thunder of a powerful detonation reached them and a billowing cloud of smoke and fire rose from far behind their objective, where the mines would be. She realized time was running out on them: "Schreieder, take Adhik, Amari, Shizuki and Olivera along with Williams' squad and go for the eastern entrance. I will take the western gate with the rest. Once we reach the facility proper, Adhik, Lumiscant and Taran have to get the gates set up ASAP."

"Understood, ma'am." Schreieder was, like many German Overwatch operatives, a modern take on Reinhardt — a mountain of muscle and armor wielding an equally huge close combat weapon. His team fell at once behind him, except for Amari; like her mother before her, she was an air combat specialist, but instead of a rocket launcher, her weapon of choice was an enormous anti-materiel railgun.

Shepard raced after Richardson the shieldbearer, followed by her own squad — except for Kaname, who had climbed atop a roof using a grappling hook and was playing both spotter and sniper — , and almost immediately lost sight of Schreieder's team, but Amari's jets still roared somewhere over her. Her eyes were darting all around, and she expected to hear either Amari's or Kaname's voice warning of enemy fire, but no such thing happened and they reached the gates to the power complex without incident.

"Clear west," she reported.

"Clear east," Schreieder replied over the radio.

"Amari? Anything?"

"I see movement between the starport and the mines, ma'am," she informed, "but nothing coming our way." The onboard AI printed a detection warning on her HUD: "They see me, that's for sure."

Shepard looked up and saw Amari maneuvering for concealment between the buildings.  _Smart,_  she thought — but she had to be, crewing a miniature aircraft all by herself that could be blotted out of the sky faster than she could say 'anti-air fire'. She was about to tell her not to take any chances, but she refrained herself; if anyone would be aware of the risks, that would be the late Pharah's own daughter.

She met Schreieder's squad at the entrance to the main reactor building. Without a word, the trio of omnics got to work on setting up the gates, while the rest of her platoon fanned out to cover as much ground as possible. Seconds tensely trickled by.

Then at last: "Contact, coming from the north, Turian infantry, distance one-point-three clicks. Estimate platoon strength," Kaname reported quietly.

"Copy that," Shepard acknowledged. "Disposition?"

"They appear rather disorganized. Some of them seem to be wounded."

 _Rather disorganized…_  only then did she notice that the noises of the fighting had died down somewhat. "Weapons tight, everyone. Only fire on self-defense. Amari, rejoin us here."

"Roger."

Then, the noises of distant but closing gunfire reached them: "Command, incoming contacts are under attack," Kaname reported, and shared the feed from the camera built into her helmet — just in time for the rest to witness three of the Turian troopers scythed down by the bright red beam of a weapon fired from outside the sniper's view.

"That's no weapon of ours," Shepard manifested. "Everyone, stay on cover. Something is not right here."

"Copy that loud and clear," Schreieder acknowledged.

She tried to raise Reynoso on her omni-tool: "Nile actual, this is Shepard. We have visual contact with alien troopers engaged with unidentified forces, estimate one click from our position. Requesting ROE and situation update, over."

Then there was an abrupt red flash in the darkness, followed by a bright lance of searing light carving the side of a building east of their position, and Kaname's warning: "Command, alien platoon coming down the street, range eight hundred meters, besieged by an unknown force." The feed from the sniper revealed ghastly, grotesque shapes that were more or less Turian, but had blue or red lights and metal grafts all over their bodies.

Shepard turned to the omnic engineers: "How long before the gate is up?"

"Six minutes, nineteen seconds, ma'am," was the synthetic voiced-reply.

"Hurry that up! Shit's about to hit the fan here."

Tensely they waited as the echoes of the fighting drew ever closer. Then, at last, came Reynoso's reply: "Shepard, this is Nile actual. Turian forces are under attack by cyborgs of unknown origin coming from within the mines. Your rules of engagement are unchanged. Acknowledge, over."

Aaliyah had to take a second to catch her breath and digest the impact of the ghastly images of the cyborgs that Reynoso had attached with his reply. It was evident they were at least part Turian… or, more properly, they had once been Turians, and now were haphazard amalgamations of flesh and metal.

_What the HELL is going on here?!_

On a hunch, she asked, "Command, request permission to engage cyborgs on sight and restrict ROEs to Turian and Asari forces only."

After an unusually long pause, the answer came: "Request granted. We have reinforcements available for you the moment your gate is up. Watch your fire, and report as necessary. Out."

"Yes sir. Out." She quickly relayed the change in orders to her team: "Everyone, weapons free on the unknown force attacking the Turians. Acknowledge."

"Excuse me, ma'am, we're not shooting the invaders?" It was Williams.

"Those are our orders, ensign, so watch your aim, is that clear?" Shepard retorted as professionally as she could.

"But ma'am—!"

"No BUTS, ensign, and not now! Clear?"

On her own position, Ashley cursed her impulsiveness and berated herself for speaking out, and replied as calmly as she could, "Yes, ma'am, clear."

"Good."

"Alien force almost out of the streets now, range two hundred and fifty meters. Cyborg forces closing in, estimate twice company strength, say again, twice company strength, range four hundred meters," Kaname reported quietly.

"Fire at will when you have a shot," was Shepard's order.

"Understood." The Japanese woman did not need to be told that twice. They did not hear her shot — her canister rifle was suppressed —, but the retreating Turians noticed at once when she felled one of their pursuers and sought cover on the entrances to the buildings lining both sides of the street that led to the power station; the cyborgs also noticed her shot, because fire started pouring down the street and towards her sniper's nest — scattered and inaccurate, but the enemy knew where she was. "Command, position taking fire," she reported coolly.

"SCALPEL, move in, move in, the rest provide backup for the engineering team!"

Schreieder wasted no time and broke cover, his squad-shield deployed. The whole Overwatch squad, with the exception of the engineers, lined up around or behind him. Shizuki's main weapon was a revolver grenade launcher, which she used to rain mines on the path of the incoming force; Amari did not take long to jump into the air and unleash a barrage of high-powered slugs on the bulk of the host attacking the Turians. Olivera, as the squad medic, remained close to Schreieder and next to Strokov — a particle cannon-toting frontliner who was way out of range yet but stood ready to assist the German — and Maritz — a riflewoman equipped like Shepard herself, wielding a battle rifle with a grenade launcher under the barrel.

The surviving Turians, caught in the middle, had a moment of confusion but quickly noticed that they were not being targeted by Shepard's squad, and used the episode to retreat behind the fences surrounding the power plant and take cover amidst all the machinery there. "Support teams, watch your fire, watch your fire," Aaliyah cautioned.

Then, at last, some of the attackers came into view, and yes, it was unmistakable that those things had been Turian before — but Shepard had little time to wonder more about them because they immediately locked in on Schreieder's barrier and focused their fire on him. Quickly, the Overwatch agent threw up a spherical shield around them, but no defense would last long against that volume of fire and everyone knew it. Strokov jumped forward courageously, raining plasma blasts on the horde of horrors, and once the bubble collapsed he activated his barrier and covered his retreat—

"VITALY!" Olivera screamed as the barrier gave way and they got one last glimpse of the Russian's surprised face before he was punched around by the intense stream of fire and tossed aside like a rag doll.

"Shit! Stay on cover, stay on cover!" Shepard hollered, then a red light glowed somewhere in the street out of their view: "INCOMING!"

A bright, red lance of light streaked with a humming noise right through the walls of a building and reached for Amari, but the airborne trooper was already moving and diving and the attack narrowly missed her. Immediately she spun around in place, fired a single snapshot in response, and dove to the ground, weaving and dodging to throw the enemy aim off balance.

The Turians made the best out of Strokov's sacrifice and reorganized themselves quickly, raining fire on the incoming cybernetic horrors and allowing Schreieder enough time to recover the horribly wounded frontliner and retreat to safety. Noticing that, at least for the time being, they would have nothing to fear from the aliens, Shepard pointed at Aliyev and Richardson and the three of them left her position by the building to join Schreieder behind a series of large ducts. At that moment, the gate the three omnics were working on went active, and four Bulwark mechs immediately joined their position; the huge war machines deployed in pairs, shifted into their sentry configuration, and immediately locked in on the approaching cyborgs. Unsurprisingly, the things could not endure that volume of firepower for long, but they did surprise both aliens and humans by pulling back.

In the brief lull, they were approached by one of the tall aliens and an Asari. They saw them coming, and they all stared at each other uncomfortably for a few instants until Aaliyah spoke, "I'm lieutenant commander Aaliyah Shepard, Alliance Navy. Identify yourselves."

She waited for the automatic AI translation, hoping nothing would get lost in the way.

Then the Turian stepped forward. "Garrus Vakarian, Turian Hierarchy. My companion is De'Alia Vasir, Asari Republics. You may be in violation of more Citadel laws than I care to remember but I'll be damned if I'm not glad of seeing you." He respectfully bowed his head. "We… are sorry for your comrade. If not for him we would all be dead now. How is he?"

Shepard was taken aback by Vakarian's concern, and that actually got her brain working on a particular direction — enemy or not, they were decent, at least by their own standards. That notion, coupled with the sheer professionalism of his troop, told her she could trust him, at least for now.

Olivera was struggling to remove the heavy plates of the powered armor. The horrified expression on the medic's face told her much, but nonetheless, she asked: "Prognosis?"

"Pretty bad, ma'am… His armor is almost  _melted_  in places. What the hell are they shooting at us with?" she asked rhetorically in exasperation.

"Vakarian, what are these things?" Shepard asked in turn.

She could not see the Turian's face behind the obscured helmet, but the tone of his voice was clear enough: "You mean you don't know what's down there."

"Down where? I understand an eezo vein was struck."

Vakarian was clearly flustered: "You didn't know. Great. So it's our fault."

"Command, enemy forces coming around the sides. This position is compromised, I must relocate," Kaname reported quietly over the radio.

Shepard closed her eyes for a few instants to clear her mind. Sending Aliyev, Richardson and Schreieder on their usual roles against those cyborgs would be tantamount to throwing their lives away — in such concentration, guns powerful enough to overwhelm a particle barrier would make short work of them.

"Amari, provide cover for Kaname, but don't take your chances," she ordered, and then, "Nile actual, this is Shepard. We have made contact with alien forces and unknown hostiles near our gate. Enemy is closing in in force, estimate battalion strength. Requesting heavy armor and close air support, over."

"Acknowledged, stand by," was the response of the Nile's AI. "Alien disposition?"

"Not hostile, say again not hostile—"

The warning interrupted her: "INCOMING!"

Again, a burning ruby beam hummed through the air — and one of the Bulwarks planted on the roof of the power plant was blown to pieces. A Turian shouted something that clearly meant a warning to stay in cover, as immediately fire started raining on them from the street to their west.

"Shepard, report your status!" Nile demanded.

"Nile, we're under attack, repeat we're being attacked! Enemy forces have superior weaponry and numbers, we got a casualty and a destroyed Bulwark. We need help here, and we need it fast!"

"Understood. It's being worked on. Please stand by." Just great, being put on hold by a goddamn AI, Shepard fumed, but there was little she could do.

"Enemy… enemy heavy weapons platform in sight," Kaname reported haltingly, fear seeping into her monotone voice. When the sniper shared the feed from her own omni-tool Aaliyah also recoiled: that…  _thing…_  was a terrifying mishmash of many Turians clumped together, a large insect-like carapace plate on its upper side. Six glowing eyes were clustered around a gaping maw, four articulated limbs tipped with wicked talons springing from its sides. The horror moved slowly, hovering half a meter over the ground. More cyborg aberrations surged on its sides, shooting as they advanced, caring not for the incoming fire.

"What the hell is that thing?" Williams was terrified.

"A target," Shepard retorted with an edge, struggling to keep her own fear at bay. "Everyone, dig in, and that also means you, Schreieder! Amari, do you have a clear shot?"

"Negative, negative, incoming fire is too heavy!"

"Stay on cover!" Vakarian and Vasir had ran to rejoin their squad, and Shepard put her concerns about the aliens aside for the time being. The Bulwarks had already retreated within the power plant, their omnic AIs clearly aware that they were easy targets for the enemy heavy weapons, but she would have a new use for them: "Bulwark group, redeploy among the ducts! Make sure each of you cover different fire arcs," she ordered, then: "SCALPEL, provide support for the alien platoon! Command squad and militia, you got the eastern street!"

She took position behind a thick duct right between a part of SCALPEL and the Turian force, peeked around cover, acquired a target, and pulled the trigger. She caught sight of the cyborg's chest exploding in a shower of metal and blackened tissue, but return fire was almost instantaneous and would have scythed through her if she had not been fast enough to retreat behind cover. She clenched her jaw, counted a few seconds and tried that again, but her movement was being watched and she barely had enough time to again retreat to safety—

—then she caught a blue flash by the corner of her eye and saw Vasir turn ablaze, and an orb of pulsing, crackling darkness materialized right in the middle of the enemy force. Most of the Turians rushed to screen her and keep her covered, while a single fire team seized the chance to rain explosives on the cluster of attackers rendered helpless. She immediately did the same, firing a fully charged blast of the hardlight projector on her left palm; the Overwatch team followed suit, and the street became an inferno of burning shrapnel and plasma—

—but nothing of that seemed to put a dent on the horror that slowly hovered towards them. A red spark blossomed on its maw, and quickly became a light so powerful that it hurt to look at it: "EVERYONE, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!"

The Turians saw it coming. One of them, far from throwing herself to the ground, grabbed a bunch of explosive discs and raced towards the monstrosity—

—and was literally vaporized by the blazing beam that burned through her so fast that it did not even allow for the explosives to ignite. The horror lurched on, inching ever closer, now within the pull of the singularity the Asari had created—

—and now Vasir followed up with another attack that appeared to be similar to a toroid of superheated plasma—

—and the singularity detonated violently, sending the monster flying away. Neither Amari nor Kaname wasted any time to shoot at its exposed underbelly when it landed on its head. Instead of exploding, the thing let out a terrible metallic screech that seared the ears, then the many lights on its body shorted out.

Only then, when relief flooded Shepard like a wave, did she notice the buzzsaw-like sound of the Bulwark chain guns firing nonstop: "Harriot, report!"

"Lemarchand and Moronta are incapacitated, the rest of us have taken fire but we can still fight," was the answer, punctuated by the loud sound of his rifle firing, and he added, "There's just so many of them!"

"How are things on your end?" The Turian leader by the name of Vakarian asked her.

"How is your team?" Shepard started counting. The same beam that had disintegrated the suicide bomber had punched clean through a section of the solid metal ducts the Turians had been using for cover.

He noticed her look: "There's still enough of us to help."

 _Don't you feel grief? What kind of soldiers are you?_  "Alright, we can use it!"

SCALPEL and the aliens joined the battle for the eastern gate, taking positions on either side of the beleaguered marines and Williams' militia. Shepard had switched her rifle for Lemarchand's hardlight projector, which she used — coupled with the same weapon on her cybernetic arm — to rain blast after blast on the incoming horrors, attacks that proved far more effective than her battle rifle, as they would simply pass through the cyborgs wreaking havoc on their way.

Then Amari caught the red glow around a corner some two hundred-odd meters away from them: "INCOMING!"

By now everyone knew what that warning meant and they quickly scrambled to retreat deeper inside the complex, but it was not enough. The beam pierced through walls, ducts, and machinery alike, burning through cover as if it was not there. There was a high pitched scream:

"Vasir!" Vakarian sprang to his feet and ran towards the Asari that, curled up on the ground, clutched her side. Her right arm and part of her right leg had vanished:

"Medic!" Shepard yelled, ran to them, and deployed her squad-shield: "Get her to cover, now!"

Olivera did not need to be ordered that twice: her Valkyrie suit allowed her to fly to her side, pick her up, and retreat behind the protective mass of a Bulwark under the covering fire of Amari and Kaname.

"We can't last much longer here," Vakarian muttered with an edge.

"I'm working on that," Shepard retorted through her teeth, briefly noticing the Turian had not even asked if they knew how to treat an Asari, then yelled on the radio: "Nile, we're getting torn to shreds here! Where's the goddamned backup already?!"

The answer came in the form of low-flying drone fighter-bombers. The craft blazed overhead, and below them, the street erupted in explosions that sent scorched metal and burned flesh flying everywhere. Aaliyah caught a glimpse of the misshapen bulk of the cybernetic monstrosity reeling under the hits:

"Heavy support unit, eleven o'clock!" She followed her report with a barrage of hardlight blasts.

"On target," Amari replied, and in a split-second, she locked in on the maw of the thing and blew a high-velocity slug right through it. This time, there was no screech, but a blinding flash and a huge ball of blue fire instead.

"Target, cease fire," Shepard acknowledged the kill, then scanned the devastated street before her for enemies. She saw nothing other than cyborg husks and debris, and the rest of the squad apparently did not find anything either:

"Clear!" Maritz, the Overwatch riflewoman, reported loudly.

Shepard sighed in relief. "That was a close call," she muttered.

"Too close, ma'am," Schreieder agreed stonily. He was by Strokov's side. Olivera had removed the charred remains of his armor, soaked his skin in medi-gel and left behind some beacons streaming autonomous nanomachines into him, but he had been thoroughly disfigured. He was alive, but he would not fight again in this conflict.

"We can't deploy particle barriers in spearheading roles against these things, and squad-shields can take only so much fire," the German added.

"We'll have to adjust our tactics," Shepard agreed, equally grim, and turned her head to see Vakarian, who was watching silently how Olivera worked on the Asari. She approached the knot of Turian troopers and demanded: "You said earlier that it was your fault. Explain yourself."

The blank-faced Maritz and the omnic by the name of Lumiscant joined her, and the Alliance and Citadel troopers measured each other for a tense second, everyone reminded, after the fight was done, that they were enemies.

"You didn't find just an eezo vein here," Vakarian spoke at last. "You know mass effect tech, so I'm going to assume you're familiar with the Protheans. They mastered eezo, and stockpiles of the stuff or untapped reserves have been found in or around ruins all over the galaxy, but we found something else here. We found it, not you, you didn't go deep enough."

Shepard kept her eyes on the Turian leader. "And that is…"

"Can't say. I haven't seen it myself. But whatever it is, it ate entire battalions and spat them out in that shape," he retorted with a vague gesture pointing at the charred husks. "I'm not surprised my superiors let you through. We can't keep a lid on this on our own with the few troops we had here."

"So you hope we're going to be your cannon fodder."

"Your what?"

She bit her lip and rephrased her words, "You hope we're going to die in your stead."

Vakarian's face darkened. "Yeah, you would see it that way. Some of my fellows would use you like that. Me?" A snort. "You just saved the lives of the few men I have left. That means I'm indebted to you, enemy or not. We'd prefer not to fight you."

"But you still would."

A very humanlike shrug and he replied, "If a direct superior still orders me to do it — after debriefing me. We're not machines or clones you can just order around. Are you?"

Shepard ignored the challenge, but not the message implied. This small knot of Turian survivors would probably defy orders to fire on them. She felt tempted to ask Williams about her thoughts, since she had been on the ground from day one, but she already knew what she was going to say — having her father held hostage by the Turians had a positively antagonistic effect, that was for certain.

"Do you know what they say about curiosity?" Shepard asked with an edge instead.

"We have a saying that goes like that, and… I warned against digging there until specialists arrived. They didn't listen to me."

Instantly she was reminded of her own experience on the Moon. Unexpectedly she groaned, "I know everything there is to know about dickhead superiors."

Vakarian snorted and commented deadpan, "Good to know we don't have the monopoly on idiots."

* * *

Ferriera felt small. He was in command of the largest fleet ever assembled: two Amazon-class carriers, leviathan starships carrying in excess of four hundred LAI drone fighter-bombers each and testament to the symbiosis between omnics and humans; seventeen Naples-class cruisers, each of them imposing warships on their own right, armed with the most powerful guns the Alliance had ever fitted into a vessel; over eighty frigates, some armed to the teeth as dedicated anti-strike craft gunships, some others equipped for boarding operations, some more specialized as electronic warfare platforms and some more still geared for planetary assault missions; and over two hundred transport ships of all sizes…

And yet the alien fleet hopelessly outnumbered them. The flagship, a huge cross-shaped vessel with humongous engines, was more than twice as big as the Nile, and dwarfed the four arrow-shaped behemoths flanking it — supersized versions of the escorts that had rammed his cruisers mere days before. Thirty cruisers, over a hundred frigates, and few strike craft but almost three hundred escorts.

The collected might of the Arcturus 2nd Fleet seemed paltry. Even more so as he stared at it through the window of the observation deck.

The single door on the oval-shaped room opened. Seven aliens walked in, four of them Asari guards; the remaining three dressed in ceremonial clothes, and were each another Asari, a Turian, and a tall, lanky, bulgy-eyed creature he had never seen before.

"Welcome to the Destiny Ascension, Admiral," the blue-skinned woman greeted him. "I am Councillor Melara, and I speak for the Asari Republics. My colleagues are Councillor Paratus for the Turian Hierarchy, and Dalatrass Talron, Councillor for the Salarian Union. We are the ruling body of the Citadel Council."

By the corner of his eye, Ferriera observed the guards. They hardly breathed. Whatever the 'Citadel Council' was, it was important. The sheer dignity of the councillors was something even he could notice. "Your Excellencies," he greeted them respectfully. "I am Admiral José Luis Ferriera, commanding officer of the Pokhara Expeditionary Force. My companions are Strike Commander John Morrison and Tekhartha Zenyatta of the Shambali." Both the Overwatch commander and the omnic monk briefly bowed their heads in greeting.

He noticed their discomfiture at once, and Melara spoke, "I understand your mechanical companion is an AI?"

"That is correct," Zenyatta replied cordially, and continued without pause: "I have received word from my brothers and sisters on the colony, Councillor Melara. They have been methodically hunted down and dismantled, whereas their fellow human citizens were not accorded such treatment. What have we done to merit such slaughter? My fellow omnics lived peacefully and harmed no one."

Bringing along the revered omnic leader had been a masterstroke, Ferriera realized immediately, as he noticed how taken aback the councillors were.

"AI development is banned throughout Citadel space for the best of reasons," Paratus stated dryly.

"And this is not Citadel space, councillor," Morrison countered, equally dry.

"And which reasons would those be?" Zenyatta inquired calmly.

Talron, the Salarian Union representative, answered his question: "If you ever get to meet a Quarian, you can ask her for details. They created a whole race of synthetic servants. Eventually they rose against them and expelled them from their homeworld."

"Even though they claimed all their work had been done legally—"

Respectfully Zenyatta interrupted the Asari with a raised hand. "'Servants,' your colleague said. Therein lies the fault of those Quarians you mention."

"We had to deal with synthetic uprisings of our own, your Excellencies," Ferriera intervened then, "but it was not something unanimous. Some omnics helped us quell them."

"And that is something a lot of people keeps finding new ways to ignore," Morrison muttered.

Paratus hardened his face. "So these synthetics have risen in arms against you and yet you still keep them around." He left the rest unsaid, but it was obvious he regarded them with a mixture of contempt and disbelief.

Morrison took one step forward. "I don't know your laws. I only know that you occupied one of our colonies, singled out some of our citizens and massacred them. Hardly the best way to introduce yourselves to another civilization."

The Turian's eyes blazed and his voice lowered: "Watch your words, barbarian. We have policed this galaxy for a thousand years and defeated foes stronger and craftier than you. It's not my concern if you're too stubborn to understand the reasons for the law. It's  _yours_."

The Overwatch commander did not back down under the threat. "Zenyatta is my comrade and my friend. If you come after him and his kin I will fight you." His icy glare communicated the message loudly and clearly:  _to the death if needs be._

Ferriera winced at the exchange, but what could he say? The leadership back at Arcturus had already stated that there would be no concessions whatsoever to an enemy that had attacked first. It was easy to say that in friendly territory, but he was aboard the alien flagship, surrounded by their forces, and confronted with the specter of a horribly unequal battle with a superior adversary.

Again Zenyatta raised a hand: "Enough have died already. Why must we resort to violence to settle our differences? Councillors, humans and omnics have fought in the past and are now allies and equals. I would like to know more about these Quarians you mention, but one thing I can tell you now: had they treated their creations as equals as well, probably they would not be outcasts now."

The Asari and the tall, lanky alien briefly exchanged glances. "Regrettably, we must stand behind our Turian comrade in this issue," Talron declared. "The case of the Quarians and their Geth creations is not the only one. Other civilizations came before ours and were destroyed by synthetic uprisings. The law is meant to curb the chances of other such calamities taking place. As is the law that punishes tampering with mass relays."

"And yet, you are correct that you should have been informed beforehand," Melara stated, and both Paratus and Talron turned to her in surprise. "Had it been done so, perhaps our differences would not be yet settled, but much loss of life could have been avoided."

Paratus glared at the Asari, and she returned the glare blankly. Then the Turian turned back to Ferriera and his fellows: "As Councillor Melara says, our differences will not be settled easily. But I admit freely that she has a point. If you would then agree, let me propose an armistice while we negotiate a final agreement."

Ferriera was surprised:  _The hawk concedes? Just like that?_  "What would be the terms?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note:_ as usual, kudos to **BrokenLifeCycle** for proofreading and brainstorming.


	10. Operation Dynamo - Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A joint Alliance-Citadel rescue mission deep into the tunnels beneath Pokhara yields a glimpse into new horrors.

Khyar system - Pokhara, planetary surface

Lumiscant, the omnic engineer, hunched over the husk of one of the cyborgs they had fought not an hour ago. Her articulated hands picked at the many metal parts on the charred corpse.

"So?" Shepard asked guardedly. Vakarian was a few steps away, watching as well.

"'So?'" she echoed, "I pity the poor bitch. That's 'so'. Whatever got its hands on… her, I think, eviscerated her while she still was alive. Notice this." She pointed at the ocular implants; there was still some fresh blue blood around them. "They tore her eyes out and replaced them with these things."

Without ceremony, she pulled the implants out and tossed them over to Shepard. They were ugly, multifaceted, angular things, vaguely reminiscent of an insect's eye. Next, she tossed a disc-shaped object that landed at Vakarian's feet:

"At least she didn't blow up when we shot her. She has more of these in her insides. You're familiar with this stuff, right?"

The Turian picked it up and his expression twisted into something Shepard guessed was a wince, then bowed his head. "Didn't you find any identity discs?"

The omnic seemed to ignore him for a few instants, continuing work on the corpse instead, but eventually, she replied deadpan: "So you finally summoned up some spine to talk to the evil robot. Good for you. And no, no identity disc. You chip your troops?" when Vakarian did not reply, she pressed her point, "You want help, I need info. I have info, you get help. Get it?"

In spite of himself, Garrus snorted. "Your engineer is… feisty. To put it nicely," then he replied, "If by 'chip' you mean some kind of implant to identify us, then yes, we are chipped."

"If you want the evil robot to help you I need the cipher to read it and see if these things can be tracked. Otherwise, it's your problem." That said, the omnic turned back to her dissection work.

Someone else would have found Lumiscant's attitude rather comical, but Shepard did not. Thousands of omnics had been killed by the Turians — thousands of  _Shambali_ at that. Some could be brought back by means of re-attaching their memory cores into new frames, but most were gone.

"She's angry. I would be too if you had slaughtered thousands of my fellow humans."

"It's different," the Turian said automatically. "They are synths—"

"The most peace-loving and friendly synths you're ever going to come across," Shepard retorted bluntly. "Of all omnics, you went and killed those who not only espoused peace but actively preached for it. You could have fucked up worse — if you had put some  _serious_  effort into it."

Vakarian glared at her. "If you ever get to visit the Citadel, look around for a Quarian and try telling her about 'nice AIs'. I could point you to a few worlds that are nothing but ruins because of synthetic uprisings."

He let that sink in and then added, "Now all we can do about you is hoping it doesn't happen."

She did not look back. "You've made it more likely, not less."

"You're wasting your breath, commander," Lumiscant growled as she worked.

Garrus saw he was wasting his breath as well, so he did not press the point. "I don't believe I can get cleared for sharing the cipher."

"Then shut up and leave. We'll solve this on our own."

Shepard was surprised by the alert that flashed on her HUD, and the message from Nile: "Stand by for reinforcements."

She left Schreieder's team in charge of keeping a watchful eye on Vakarian's platoon and made her way to the reactor building, where upon reaching the gate she was met by a set of familiar faces:

" _Tovarich Shepard'yeva,_ " Zaryanova greeted her.

" _Aleksandra Andreyevna,_ " Shepard saluted, then noticed her grim disposition. Tracer was also there, equally upset, alongside Mercy, Genji, the slender D-Va next to the huge bulk of her hardsuit, and the reason for their discomfort — a leather-clad man wearing a skull-like mask. The post-combat relief evaporated at once.

"What's he doing here?"

Reaper said nothing, merely staring back coldly at her instead. Then three more troops joined them.

"Commander Shepard?" a black-skinned man asked. He was fully outfitted in a featureless matte-black armor, except for the small N7 logo on his breastplate.

"Sir," she saluted.  _He can't be…_

"David Anderson. My partners are Kathleen Sanders and Brian Ryder. We have new orders for you."

At once she boxed her amazement and displeasure into a compartment and refocused, "I'm listening, sir."

"We understand you have been informed already about the nature of these cyborg forces battling both the Turians and us."

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other in discomfort. "If we're going to believe what this Vakarian said, sir, then yes."

"Until we make our own investigations, we don't have much of a choice in the matter. Part of what we're going to do involves that, but our primary mission is a rescue. Contact with a fellow N7 team was lost as they tried to infiltrate the mining compound. I've asked Overwatch to assist in the extraction."

It was extremely hard for her not to blink. Reaper coolly glaring in amusement at her probably helped. She struggled to control her hatred and bottled the impulse to ask why to bring the murderer along, then inquired instead, "Is there anything else I need to know, sir?"

Anderson waved everyone beyond hearing range except for Zaryanova. "This alien squad is coming with us. We have agreed to a ceasefire with the Citadel forces while the terms of an armistice are negotiated. They have their own worries — the Turians have lost a lot of people, with many still MIA."

"Are you sure that is their only concern?" Zarya muttered darkly.

The N7 bowed his head, showing he shared her mindset. "They're every bit as interested as we are in finding out as much as they can about this cyborg menace, if only because of the quality of their weapons. And they'll want to keep us in the dark about whatever they find, so we must get to the bottom of this before they do."

Aaliyah acknowledged him with a nod. "Alright, sir. What do you need me to do? Do we need to bring someone else with us?"

"If I may," Zaryanova replied politely, "I suggest we bring Kaname and Lumiscant with us. That will round out my team."

At once, Shepard radioed the order for the woman and the omnic to join them. "I suppose I am to be the liaison with this Vakarian?"

"That is correct. You have already set up some sort of rapport with the Turians. Your quick thinking is to be commended, LC."

"Begging your pardon, sir, being mutilated into that shape is a fate I would not wish upon anyone."

"Me neither," Anderson agreed, "but don't let that get in the way of your work. I don't have to tell you how fragile or dangerous the situation is."

_So, no simple rescue mission. Of course not. And if we find ourselves up to our necks in Turian cyborgs…_ Suddenly the perspective of having Reaper around changed from borderline intolerable to barely tolerable. Supposing the madman could be counted not to shoot them.

"Copy that loud and clear, sir. If you'll excuse me I need to sort things out with my team."

"You do that, then report back here."

* * *

Pokhara, despite being a remote, barren and inhospitable world, had been settled because of the rich deposits the main mining complex had been built around. Initially an open-cut operation, now the complex was one giant borehole almost half a kilometer across, and countless galleries had been excavated into its walls.

Now the place was a smoking ruin. No recognizable machinery was left. It had been blown to pieces, and their wrecks had been subjected to barrage after barrage until there was nothing left of them other than twisted metal. Cyborg husks littered the terrain around the borehole, and the bottom was black and blue with charred metal and Turian blood.

"Just how many died here?" Shepard whispered in horror.

"Too many," Vakarian replied darkly. "Just because of an overzealous officer."

Now both Alliance and Citadel troops manned the perimeter, the former heavily outnumbering the latter. Rigid discipline was enforced on the ranks by either side, nobody wanting to risk the precarious ceasefire being rent asunder by any mistakes.

Both platoons stood ready, coolly eyeing each other as last-minute preparations were made. Shepard caught sight of Mercy approaching her with an Asari in tow:

"Commander, meet Valena Danaan. You have come across her before."

Aaliyah studied the blue-skinned face warily, not placing her, then her memory joined the dots. She blinked in surprise, wondering what she would do now that she was back on her feet, but before she could say anything the Asari anticipated her:

"Calm down, I'm not about to reignite the fighting because of our first encounter."

Instantly Shepard took a liking to her. "That's some of the most judicious talk I've heard since I made planetfall. If it's true."

"Why lie? Nobody stands to gain anything from further bloodshed. In fact, I've come to join you in your mission."

She double-took at those words, then noted lowly, "I assume you're well aware of the risks. Yours was no simple flesh wound."

"And that's why you need me. You need not fear us, officer. De'Alia Vasir fought alongside you and she did not turn on you either."

"That won't stop you from betraying us later." The discussion was pointless, so she cut it short right there: "Alright, if you're coming with us, I suppose you can join Vakarian's platoon."

"You misunderstand me. I'm not going as part of my Turian comrade's force, I'm going with you."

Immediately Shepard glanced at Anderson and his fellow N7 commandos, who were all busy discussing preparations with other officers while still in full view of the conversation: nobody raised an eyebrow about it. Neither did any of the Overwatch elite. Reaper, though, was staring intently at her.

That glare was what compelled Shepard to accept:

"We are a tight unit, miss Danaan, and everyone here is expected to fulfill a role. Still, I've seen what you can do, so I won't refuse having you around where we're going."

A few minutes later, a company of Turian troops escorted them all the way down to one of the lowest galleries. It had been sealed in the past with the circular hatch-like doors typically used on mines in colonies all over Alliance space, but there was no trace of the hatch now; it had been blown away — from the inside.

"This is as far as we go," the company commander told Garrus. "Good luck to you."

"Thanks."

Given the narrow confines, it was obvious that the score of troopers could not march next to each other. Vakarian and his troops solved the conundrum by marching ahead without uttering a single word; Anderson and the N7 team, alongside Reaper, Shepard, and their Asari guest, comprised the middle ranks, and Zaryanova and the Overwatch squad covered their rear.

Aaliyah held herself tightly in control. Having to work alongside the murderer that had killed her whole squad grated her immensely, but it was not the moment to dwell on that.

Signs of the bitter fighting that had raged on the tunnels were everywhere, with walls blackened by explosions and pockmarked with holes all over. There were, however, no corpses at all, but many blue blood stains. Despite the cool antipathy between Alliance and Citadel troopers, the former could not stop themselves from reconstructing the battle on their minds and feeling horrified — all except for Lumiscant and Reaper.

"When did this start?" Anderson asked quietly.

Vakarian was slow to answer. "Four standard days ago."

As they went deeper into the mines, sparse glowing blue dots started to appear on the stone. Shepard expected those to grow into veins, but she was noticeably surprised when out of nowhere they came upon a solid chunk of pure element zero embedded on the wall. The Turians also noticed this and they talked among themselves for a few seconds:

"This is not normal, officer," their Asari 'guest' translated their words into English for her benefit before her onboard AI could. "Some forms of refined eezo look like this."

"There's something buried here," the Turian leader muttered. "This is no mere mine."

Shepard wanted to ask,  _Why are there no bodies here?_ The answer was obvious and terrifying.

It took her some instants to realize Danaan had not used her mother tongue:  _she speaks English? How come?_

Eventually, they came upon a new installation, something unlike anything any Alliance hardware; it seemed to have been a large zero-g blast door at some point, but it had been reduced to charred metal. Fighting in this hall had been fierce and desperate. Bloodstains were everywhere, and many small bits of metal were scattered on the ground.

"We had hoped to contain them here," Vakarian mused, anticipating their thoughts. "We had fortified this chamber."

Shepard expected to hear more, but the Turian was silent. Zaryanova then intervened:

"Then what happened?"

Garrus still could not bring himself to talk, so one of his subordinates spoke for him:

"A team had went in to rescue some people who got sealed off somewhere further underground. They came back to us turned into living bombs. Some remained here to buy time for the rest of us to retreat back to the surface."

Beyond the torn hinges of the hatch, the tunnel stretched on, dimly lit by solid chunks of eezo on the walls but no other lighting. Nothing moved.

Reaper ignored the dread that was stalking both platoons and simply strode on, twin submachine guns ready on his hands. Zaryanova followed him, spurred by the need to keep an eye on their enemy, and the rest of the Overwatch force went with them. Without a word, both forces switched positions and resumed their walk, but Vakarian joined Shepard and Anderson on the middle rank. Nobody spoke. Everyone was now on edge, senses very alert.

But no one expected the galleries, ever more abundant with eezo chunks, to suddenly and abruptly change from near perfect cylindric tunnels into a wide, cavernous gallery of purple metallic walls.

"This is not a mine," Hana Song spoke for the first time, unknowingly echoing Vakarian's earlier words, unease creeping into her voice. Nobody acknowledged her.

Even Reaper himself had stopped. Shepard could only see the black hood as he was absolutely still, his back turned to her.

Then slowly he raised his guns and started walking again. Making almost no noise at all this time.

Both the Overwatch team and Anderson's N7 commandos understood immediately and safeties went off. Vakarian noticed this and his troop followed suit, even though he could not see anything.

The gallery eventually led to a chasm so deep they could not see the end of it. A narrow ledge ran left and right. Everything here was solid metallic purple, both the floor and the walls, except for regularly occurring seams.

Vakarian pointed to the left. "That way."

"So you have trackers after all," Shepard noted.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't allowed to share it with you."

"Guess it doesn't matter now…" She looked around her. The place was impossibly huge and  _quiet._ Still, there was something indefinable, vaguely resembling the shrill of an ultrasonic whistle in sensation, except that there was no sound at all.

Reaper started walking away, oblivious of the exchange, his motions now almost liquid. D-Va fell behind him with Tracer and Kaname the sniper at her back and the rest of the Overwatch team in tow.

Painfully aware of how vulnerable they were walking on a narrow ledge, they hugged the wall of the chasm until they reached another passageway. Some steps down the corridor and Anderson halted the march:

"Hold on."

Lumiscant stepped forward and crouched next to the discarded piece of armor. She picked it up: it was the left brace of a suit not different from Anderson's, the same area where the omni-tool was housed.

She plugged into the portable computer and after a few instants, she reported dryly, "It's been scrubbed. The homing beacon is still on, though. Whoever dumped it did so hours ago."

"Who did it?" Anderson demanded.

"Harper, sir," then the omnic froze. "We've got company."

Reaper grunted. "This is a trap."

Then, clear in the silence that seemed to swallow all sound, something reached them. It was the distant echo of a feminine wail.

Shepard's blood chilled and she felt all of her hairs standing on end. It was a horrible feeling, but one she was well acquainted with. Twice had she experienced something similar: on the Overwatch oubliette in the Cabeus crater, and on the cargo bay of the London.

But the person responsible for that was now standing one step ahead, back turned towards her, both submachine guns raised.

"I got it," Lumiscant announced, then reported in a rush, "Enemy forces are converging in our position. Range three-two-eight meters bearing two-one-one, and two-eight-one meters bearing zero-six-five." The omnic patched through the feed to the rest of the squad.

"We will get the rear," Vakarian said on the spot, putting aside his disquiet: if the synth was not lying and if she was tracking the signals on the implants of his erstwhile comrades, then she could crack their ciphers in a matter of hours.

"Understood," Anderson acknowledged him.

He did not need to impart orders: the Overwatch elite was already ready and his fellow commandos needed no preparation. The Turian troops retreated back to the passageway entrance by the chasm and took defensive positions there.

"I'll scout ahead," Tracer volunteered, and darted away into the darkness before he could say anything.

"If that girl was a man, he'd have a serious pair," one of the N7 commandos admired her.

_We need all the help we can get, lost in this goddamned maze,_ Shepard thought bitterly, then instantly boxed that thought away. Being fatalistic now was a luxury she could not afford.

They waited like coiled springs ready to burst at the sight of the enemy. Hana Song kept her eyes on the feed from Tracer's omni-tool as she raced through the labyrinthine passageways. Genji Shimada had unsheathed his tanto knife and was wielding it backward, his grip completely still, the color accents on his black armor helping him blend in with the purple metallic walls. Zarya's weapon hummed, pointed forward and upwards to provide indirect fire, its wielder steady and relaxed, confident in her skills after having fought numberless battles in close quarters. Of the Overwatch elite, Anika Ziegler was the most unsettled, her golden wings trembling slightly with each breath and the heavy Caduceus blaster quivering in her hands. Kaname, the sniper, had never shifted from the cold, professional persona Shepard had known during their battle for the Tokamak reactor, and had her right eye on the scope of her canister rifle, multiple nanite grenades hanging from webbing on her chest.

Lumiscant was fidgety, keeping eye on the clusters of red icons that were inching closer by the second. Reaper froze still again, both guns raised, and Shepard's eyes were on her enemy, her intuition trusting his uncanny senses more than her reason…

Then some more icons appeared out of nowhere, and the omnic yelled, "TURIANS! THEY'RE ON YOU!"

It was too late. Like unholy spiders, cyborgs were climbing the chasm. A storm of gunfire erupted as Vakarian's troop tried to smite the abominations, but these had no interest in fighting, only in reaching the knot of Turian troopers, and Garrus realized this with only enough time to retreat to safety before—

—a coruscating sphere of darkness and purple energy trapped the cyborg horrors before they detonated. The explosions ripped through the Turian squad, but they held their ground. Anderson noticed this, turned to squint down the dark tunnel, and as he failed to see anything coming he ordered:

"We'll help them out! You guard this flank!"

" _Tak tochna, tovarich komandir,_ " Zarya acknowledged him, her knuckles white within the heavy gauntlets of her powered armor.

"I see them! I see—"

They heard Lena's voice before it was cut short by a feminine scream unlike anything they had ever heard before. It was so high-pitched it stung the eardrums, but it was no lament. Instead, it was a malevolent shrill, a cry aimed like a weapon right at the heart of their resolve.

Then there was another scream:

"TRACER!" Anika exclaimed in fear.

Nobody said anything. Everyone knew there was nothing they could do for her, and besides, the time-jumper was resourceful and impossible to corner or pin down. They had to trust she could make it to safety.

Reaper did not wait. He strode forward into the darkness, guns raised, and melted away in smoke — almost right at the same moment a cluster of red and blue lights turned round a corner and ran towards them.

Kaname loosed a round automatically, the noise of D-Va's chainguns drowning her shot but not her warning: "HOSTILES!"

Lumiscant fired two hardlight blasts and tossed a small sphere down the hallway that became a giant turquoise ball running through literally everything on its way. Several of the cyborgs erupted in showers of sparks and dark blue sprays. Shepard ran to the front and deployed her squad-shield as the things detonated explosively, the shockwave almost overwhelming her defense. A purple protective bubble enveloped her, and it was a good thing because a fusillade broke through her shield, peppering D-Va's mech but inflicting no real damage.

Hana ceased fire and deployed her point defense, giving them a few precious seconds to marshal a counterattack which Zarya did not waste. Augmented by Anika's Caduceus staff, she unleashed one plasma bomb after another, wreaking havoc on the cyborgs as Genji dashed ahead. He deflected incoming fire back to the enemy and cut a bloody blue swathe through the staggered attackers with precise sword slashes—

There was a blinding burst of light.

Then, out of nowhere, a tall, blue silhouette blinked into existence among the cyborg husks. It…  _it_ … had apparently been an Asari once… like the cyborgs had been Turians in turn… but now it was a ghastly perversion of the blue aliens, stripped of all armor and cloth, biomechanical grafts lining its emaciated shape… terrible foot-long talons where each of the nails would be…

Shepard and Danaan went pale simultaneously at the horrific sight, and the former tried to yell a warning—

The thing hunched forward, arms spread wide, and screamed. Pain exploded in Aaliyah's head, and she could do nothing but reflexively trying to shield her ringing ears to no avail. Around her and further behind them, the Overwatch crew and Anderson's commandos were equally stunned, except for Lumiscant—

"SHUT UP!" D-Va raged as she literally stepped on the gas pedal and her hardsuit rocket-blasted forward, wading right into the husks and smashing onto the wailing horror—

But then, after a series of bright flashes, and the horror was no longer there, and then icons and alerts started to flash all over D-Va's HUD telling her that something was eating through the upper rear armor of her mech. She pivoted in place to find again the ghoulish figure, its clawed hands ablaze with blue fire and raised as if about to hurl something at her; she raised her point-defense system but the toroid simply ignored it, and the yellow alerts turned red as her right gun pod was sliced off clean.

" _RYUJIN NO KEN WO KURAE!"_  But now the monster was no longer screaming, which meant that D-Va's comrades were coming back to their senses, and the closest one was Genji. His sword went right through the horror's gut; a flick of the wrist, and then the blade ripped all the way out through the belly. Glowing blue ichors spurted out—

"GENJI!" Zarya screamed and watched in horror as the thing blinked around in the same fashion Tracer usually did and neck lifted the ninja. A cruel glare and then the large talons impaled him through the chest. With a dismissive and deceptively powerful flick of its arm, the monster tossed him away. Genji crashed noisily against the wall without so much as a painful grunt.

At once, Kaname tossed a nanite grenade that went off on top of the badly mauled Genji, then she brought her rifle to bear and fired. The large syringe-like canister dart hit the monster squarely on the chest. The thing waved its head around, briefly disoriented, then glared at the dart lodged in its flesh—

And then a submachine gun barrel was jammed through the monster's right eye socket.

"Die."

A brief buzzsaw-like sound and a splatter of ichors and brain matter stained the floor. Then Reaper put his other gun underneath the chin of the monster.

"Die."

Another sickening splash. Then the guns were pointed at the arms.

"Die."

Short bursts tore the arms off. Then Reaper became a cloud of living death and he enveloped the monster and its minions as he screamed his murderous mantra: "Die, DIE, DIE!"

The carcass of the banshee-like monster messily hit the ground. The cyborgs crumpled unceremoniously on the floor. Reaper wasted no time making sure they were truly dead and simply blew their heads off—

And then there was another stroboscopic cadence of blinding lights, and again there was the shrill screaming. Not even Reaper was immune to the near-supersonic wail of the monster that had appeared right next to him.

Out of reflex, he turned again into a cloud of smoke, but a pulsing black orb trapped him even in that form before he could escape. Blue fire blazed in the gaunt monster's hand as it readied its attack—

And then it was frozen into place. Danaan yelled, eyes clamped shut in exertion, "HURRY! I can't keep it in stasis for long!"

Shepard reached for Lumiscant, who was unaffected by the screaming. They both raced forward, taking care to stay clear of the pull of the black hole-like orb; Aaliyah primed two grenades and lodged them between the talons of each hand while the omnic deployed small sentry turrets around it. Using their hardlight projectors together, they wrested Reaper's smoky form away from the orb's pull and retreated to safety behind the bulk of D-Va's hardsuit, then screamed to Danaan:

"NOW!"

In quick succession, the Asari released her supernatural hold on the monster, and both grenades went off. The monster screamed in pain and rage as the sentry turrets fired on it—

Then a thin silhouette popped right next to it: "Time's up for you, you  _cunt._ "

The bloodied and bruised Tracer popped away to safety, then her pulse bomb detonated. The monster became a series of ugly stains on the walls.

Silence followed. Turians and humans alike groped back to their senses and tried to account for their wounded.

Slowly and ungainly, Reaper stood up, turned around, and found what he was looking for. Shepard and the leather-clad assassin squared off.

"Thanks."

The voice had been quiet, without any of its usual hostility.

Aaliyah felt her temples swell and she turned aside. "I didn't do it for you," she muttered.

Anika, oblivious to the exchange, was on top of Genji. The ninja was out cold.

Tracer limped up to her. "How is he?"

"If we get him quickly out of here he'll live," Mercy answered through gritted teeth. "No tissue damage, but his life support system is wrecked."

"If it's mechanical damage I can help him," Lumiscant volunteered. "Maybe you'd want to look after Tracer and… well, him, doc."

Anika nodded and turned her attention to Tracer. " _Mein Gott,_  what got you?"

Lena's right arm was on a makeshift sling improvised out of her customary flight jacket. There was a clean hole on her right thigh she had crudely patched up with medi-gel and bandages. A multitude of small bruises and cuts covered her all over.

Tracer's smirk turned into a painful grimace. "You can dodge only so much."

Mercy grunted in agreement and undid the blood-soaked bandages. "It got hairy here."

Lena winced as Anika worked on her wound. "It also got hairy there."

"No doubting that."

Anderson slowly approached them, Garrus in tow. His eyes quickly scanned everything, including the casualties and the fallen enemies. He approached Shepard and Zaryanova, both equally ashen and standing next to Lumiscant and the shell-shocked Danaan: "Good to see you made it."

"It was no walk in the park," Shepard grunted. "How was it over there, sir?"

"We had some casualties," Garrus answered. "We have to send them back to the surface. They won't live long otherwise."

"You fared better than us, I see, in spite of…" Anderson's words trailed off as he laid eyes on the carcasses of the blue-skinned horrors. His eyes jumped between them and the traumatized Asari.

"We never came across those… apparently, that's what they do to any Asari they get their hands on," the Turian speculated.

"What's 'they', Vakarian?" Zaryanova demanded tiredly, still numb. She could not shake from her mind the vivid specter of the horror impaling Genji.

A shrug. "I haven't seen what it is. Eventually we'll find it down here."

"Will he live?" Anderson was asking Lumiscant as she worked on the unconscious Genji.

"Without help, he won't make it past today," was the cold answer. "I'm doing what I can, but without the right parts I can't fix him up."

A Turian soldier approached Garrus: "We'll have to find another way up, sir. The tunnel is gone."

Shepard stared at the trooper. "What?"

Moments later, they were on the edge of the chasm again. Where the passageway had once been, there was now a solid wall of purple metal without so much as a seam to mark a moving wall.

"Just great," she swore.

"Lumiscant?" Hana asked the omnic. She did not like her situation in the least. With a gun pod missing, she was reduced to barely being a bulky and inefficient fire support unit.

"Nothing around, but don't trust me," she warned. "Last time the bunch that got the jump on the Turians appeared almost right on top of them."

"We can't afford splitting up," Garrus mused.

"We cannot," Anderson agreed. "Can you repair D-Va's suit?" he asked of the omnic engineer.

"I can, but it'll take time," the synth replied flatly. She needed not clarifying that time was in short supply for some of them.

"Then we'll have to continue with what we've got. We will take the lead, as we've taken less casualties. Song, you and Ziegler go on the rear with Vakarian's platoon and cover our wounded. Zaryanova, Shepard and Reaper on point. We'll follow you along with Lumiscant and Kaname."

Tracer nodded reluctantly at that. The 'wounded' included her. Medi-gel and Mercy's magic staff or not, her stiff leg meant she could not dodge and jump around. But that did not mean liking to depend on Reaper to make it out of that maze. She exchanged glances with Aaliyah:  _beware of this chap._

It did not take long for them to find Lena's handiwork: over a score of shot-up cyborgs and the wreck of one of those horrific siege units. One of the walls bore a long scorch mark where the thing had apparently hunted after her with its beam weapon.

"What happened here?" Garrus asked.

Shepard made a vague gesture at the limping Oxton, who just shrugged.

The Turian was amazed. "You took on all of them just by yourself…"

"It wasn't easy… I had to really work at it." She pointed at her wound. "I didn't get away scot-free either."

They were following Lumiscant's indications, following passageways that twisted, turned and sometimes retraced its steps. Shepard wanted to ask what it was that they were after, but in all likelihood the beacon on the omni-tool they had found was linked to those on the armors of Harper's fellow team members and they were trying to home in on that. She allowed herself no further speculation: being on point meant that she would be the first to die if they failed to spot the enemy.

At one moment, though, Reaper stopped cold.

"What?" Zaryanova asked dryly.

"We've been here before." The masked assassin turned around in place. The passageway was completely ordinary, except for a few seams here and there on the purple metal. After a complete turn he stopped, stared intently at the wall before him. Without warning, he turned into smoke and vanished.

Then they heard his voice on the radio. "Reaper here."

Lumiscant demanded, "Where are you?"

There was no response. Then the wall section on their right slid upwards without a noise. Reaper was on the other side.

"This is a shifting maze."

Anderson was dumbstruck. "How did you get that open?"

The assassin started walking down the newly opened tunnel. "Too long. Let's get this done and get out of here."

Garrus was speechless. Shepard noticed that:

"Ask about him at your peril," she warned him quietly, and followed after her enemy.

Two things became immediately apparent: first,  _something_  had been herding them down those passageways that apparently led nowhere, and second, they were not meant to ever set foot on that particular corridor. The motif here was different: the walls were brownish in tint, and seemed to be covered with a resinous material rough to the touch.

After some time they reached a wide chamber. Faceted containers lined the walls. Many were dark and silent, but several were powered and shone with bluish light.

"They're large enough to hold people," Vakarian said, approaching one on a hunch, one he was wishing to be wrong about. The containers were translucid but not to the point of being able to see what was going on within.

Reaper approached another of the capsules. He stretched his neck forward in a fashion that Shepard's unconscious mind equated with that of a predator smelling the wind for prey — and that caused her to recoil in shock when her conscious self realized it.

"What's… what is it, officer?" Danaan asked in worry. Shepard was startled and tried to cover her lapse, but it was too late: "There's something… someone alive in there, is it?"

The masked assassin touched the crystal briefly then pulled away.

Aaliyah did not look into the Asari's questioning eyes. "Do you want to know?"

"We don't have the time to find out," Lumiscant alerted them, then she patched through her data to the rest of the squad: "This place will get lively in minutes if we stay here."

Anderson looked for the beacon on his HUD: some fifty-three meters to the northwest of their position. "We don't leave until we complete our mission. Safeties off!"

"This will slow them down," the omnic engineer said, then set up some small sentry turrets on the walls and the roof, concealing them in a way that it would be impossible for any pursuers to see them until they had gone right past them. She followed up by spraying a near-invisible layer of film-like material on the ground a few steps ahead of the turrets. "Done. Let's go."

They continued down the hallway into another chamber not too dissimilar from the previous one, except for a series of contraptions resembling tall metal stakes on tripods. They all were soaked in blue blood.

Except for one.

Danaan laid her eyes on the single impaled Asari, and her face contorted in terror. Before anyone could stop her, she levitated herself upwards and, as delicately as circumstances allowed, wrenched the victim free. At once the stake telescoped down and shrunk in size until it became a small, broad spike.

Mercy thought she had already seen enough horrors down here to be inured to more, but she was wrong. It took quite an effort to set that aside and approach the terror-stricken Asari and the helpless victim that was bleeding to death with no possible recourse on her arms. As she gazed on that tortured and agonized face, Anika realized she would not sleep well for weeks if she made it out of here alive. The eyes had been torn out. Metal pieces had burst through the skin as if they had grown from within. The poor woman was gulping out like a fish out of water, trying to say something but completely failing at doing so.

Despite the urgency of the moment, nobody dared to interrupt Danaan as she soothed the woman in her arms. Then she laid her softly on the ground, stood up slowly with tears of rage flowing down her serene face, and she clenched her left fist until it became ablaze with a blue flame, knuckles chalk-white:

"May the Goddess grant you in death the peace that was robbed from you in life."

She smashed downwards. There was a sickening  _crunch_. The woman's limbs tensed for an instant, then relaxed forever.

Mercy gave her two whole seconds, as much time as she dared given their situation, before softly touching her shoulder and whispering, equally softly, "I'm sorry. We have to go."

Danaan nodded and started walking without a sound. Her face was an expressionless mask, but tears kept rolling, and her fists were still clenched white.

They continued at a brisk pace, turned around a corner, then a loud beeping was clearly heard in the darkness. Immediately Shepard realized what it was:

"IED!"

She raced towards the sound and deployed her squad-shield with barely a split-second to go before the explosive trap detonated. The blast was powerful enough to actually push her back several steps, but somehow she remained standing. A few coughs helped her voice work:

"Is… is everyone okay?"

A chorus of acknowledgments followed. "Good eye, LC," one of the N7s approved.

"Textbook, sir," she merely replied, which earned her a nod. Building improvised explosive devices to secure a hideout while waiting for extraction was one of the many topics on the ICT curricula. "They must be close by."

"There." In the darkness, a dim yellow light blinked in sequence. Anderson pulled out his flashlight and blinked back. Then, some more lights —headlamps and similar gear— turned on, and a single man approached. The left brace of his armor was missing.

"Excuse me, sir, I must have bungled my… oh. No, I didn't bungle anything." The man's voice changed after spotting Garrus and his team. His eyes flickered very briefly when he recognized the skull-like motif of Reaper's mask.

Anderson nodded, but procedures came first. "Identify and authenticate."

"Commander John T. Harper, attached to the Pokhara Expeditionary Force as part of 3rd Recon, serial number three-two-one-oh-four-nine-niner-oh. My authentication code is CHRONOS."

One of Anderson's commandos checked the information and sent him a silent 'OK' over the squad intranet. Again, the N7 leader nodded, and replied, "The response is BISHOP."

Harper relaxed slightly. He eyed Vakarian, who glared back guardedly, and asked Anderson, "When did we agree to the ceasefire?"

"Before deploying planetside."

"Good." He bowed his head in agreement, then approached Garrus. "Down here we couldn't afford to shoot each other. Maybe you can help the guys that teamed up with us."

Vakarian nodded, having pieced together that part already. The signal of the beacon his own team was tracking emanated from these chambers so it could only mean one thing.

"Kandros," he ordered quietly.

His team medic nodded and, escorted by two men, joined him as he approached the knot of humans clustered around the four forms lying on the floor.

A quick glance at the first two and the Turian shook her head slowly. When she approached the third one, her face twisted in a way reminiscent of a brow knotting. "He's alive. Prepare him for transportation."

"Yes, ma'am," one of her aides acknowledged her.

One of the humans they had just met approached Kandros: "Please excuse us… we tried our best to save the others, following this fellow's instructions. Guess it wasn't good enough."

She was checking the fourth and last one. "I can tell. You did save her, so your efforts weren't wasted."

The human — apparently a female, given the bulges on the breastplate — deflated in a sigh. "Thanks, ma'am."

Garrus approached and noticed who had survived. His eyes flashed with surprise and he tried to conceal it, but Shepard was looking at him.

"Someone special, I gather," she ventured.

Vakarian nodded. Trying to hide it now was pointless. "If someone could survive this long down here, it was Saren Arterius. He's some of the best there is."

Aaliyah caught sight of Reaper; the masked assassin was apparently listening with well-guarded interest. This once, she had to agree with her enemy:

"I'm surprised you actually tell us about him in detail."

"You would know of him eventually."

A sharp echo came from down the hallway they had traversed minutes ago.

"They're here," Lumiscant warned quietly.

"Stand to!" Garrus ordered, then turned to Anderson, "Take my wounded teammates and get them out of here. We'll delay them."

"If we lose all of you here, we'll never make it out," the N7 argued, then as he saw Vakarian was not persuaded, he changed his tack: "I know you Turians will take one for the team if you deem it necessary. I don't question your courage, and your commitment to the mission is exemplary, but this time the way out is to run together."

Urged by the sounds of the approaching enemy, Garrus had little time to think. His first impulse was to urge Anderson to leave them, but then they heard again that malevolent feminine wail:

"Here they come!" one of his troopers warned.

"Make every shot count!" he barked harshly in reply, then he turned to Anderson: "We'll get the rear! Go!"

Then the first cyborgs turned around the corner, and almost immediately opened up in a storm of gunfire — and right afterward, after a series of blinding stroboscopic light pulses, one of the emaciated blue horrors appeared:

"SCREAMER!"

"Not this time." In a single fluid motion, Garrus raised his heavy long rifle and loosed a single shot. The round pierced all the way through the head of the monster, leaving a tiny hole on the forehead and making a bloody mess of the rest of the skull. The abomination gurgled hideously, then slowly toppled forward and landed flat on its face. With the same murderous precision, the Turian switched from target to target, dropping three enemies in quick succession until a burst forced him to take cover amidst the large cylinders by the walls. One of his subordinates, however, opened up from another angle, again inflicting a toll on their pursuers, and in this fashion they managed to keep the enemy busy on one or two of them at a time. They were superbly organized; each trooper defaulted to specific arcs of fire that overlapped with those of other troopers, and their firing patterns ensured they never targeted any foe twice by mistake.

Anderson and his fellow commandos had used the shock caused by Vakarian's quick disposition of the main visible threat to charge forward. The N7 leader was a legend for a reason, a veteran of many rodeos who had earned his spurs as an assault specialist; as such, he excelled in disrupting formations, his business being to crash into the enemy and dish out explosive and ballistic death all around him. He had worked in tandem with Sanders and Ryder for years now, and they knew his fighting patterns down to the letter. Helped by the deadly and accurate fire support from the Turians, it took them less than twenty seconds to slice through half the enemy like a hot knife through butter, and managed to throw the remainder into a disordered and chaotic retreat before they themselves were forced to take cover.

"This lull won't last long," the N7 veteran said huskily. "Lumiscant and Reaper, find us a way out of here!"

"We have heavies coming at us," the omnic warned.

The assassin acknowledged neither Anderson nor the omnic. He walked up to Tracer instead:

"Hand over your bombs."

Virtually the whole Overwatch squad had the same thought at the same time:  _sure, and then you have a perfect chance to blow us up right here._  But then again, Reaper had shown he had no need for explosives to kill people.

Reluctantly Tracer handed him her two remaining charges. As he reached for them, she held them briefly: "Careful with that."

Reaper snatched the explosives with contempt, and sneered, "I'll just save again your lame asses with them. No sweat." Then he walked away.

Oxton gritted her teeth, and her eyes blazed angrily, but she said nothing. She was disabled, entirely at the mercy of her enemy; the situation was humiliating, but she had no choice other than rolling with it.

The assassin stormed off and simply strode forward past Anderson's team, caring nothing at all for the incoming enemy fire as he became a smoky specter and ignored it. Garrus put aside the concerns such a sight elicited — it looked human, spoke like a human, and wielded guns like a human, but almost definitely that  _thing_ was  _not_  human and certainly did  _not_  resemble anything he had ever heard of — and seized the distraction Reaper had created to snipe at another cyborg. His troop and the human soldiers wasted little time as well.

"Press forward!" Anderson ordered.

They started pushing, slowly at the beginning, but their pace quickened as the enemy learned Reaper was impervious to gunfire — whatever drove them, it was smart enough to realize that throwing cyborgs at him would only get them wrecked.

"We're almost there," Lumiscant encouraged them as the chasm was again visible down the end of the tunnel, then her voice changed. "The enemy is coming in in force behind us! Company strength, with multiple heavies."

Reaper said nothing but retraced his steps, readying one of Tracer's pulse bombs, and vanished down the hallway.

The N7 leader ordered, "Get moving! Overwatch team, make sure the way out is clear! Shepard, on me!"

Zarya wasted no time. She bubbled up and charged down the ledge, expecting to be fired upon at any moment but nothing happened. She reached the hallway on the other side of the chasm and yelled an alert over the radio:

"Clear!"

The wounded, escorted by Kandros and Ziegler, came next along with Kaname the sniper, who took position by the hallway threshold and waited for Anderson's team and the Turians to follow—

—and one of the blue-skinned screamers appeared out of nowhere amidst blinding pulses of light, floating in the midst of the chasm. Danaan was ready for this—

—but another singularity appeared right next to it, not hers. Next to her, Lumiscant fired multiple hardlight blasts off her weapon, and she realized the humans probably had their own means of generating such phenomena despite their lack of biotics because the omnic's attacks were impeccably timed, shredding the emaciated abomination to pieces before it could react.

Back in the tunnel, the echo of a powerful detonation reached them, and Anderson yelled, "That's our signal, let's go!"

D-Va had remained behind. Her damaged hardsuit was of limited use since she could not project her point defense grid with just one gun pod, but it would have another use now. She walked to the hallway entrance and waited by the edge of the chasm until they had all raced to safety, then she herself followed. As she was the last one remaining, she turned around, expecting the black cowled silhouette of their nemesis to appear, but instead of him, what she spotted were the blue and red lights hinting of more approaching enemies, so she rocket-blasted across the chasm, landing at the other side just at the moment the enemy started to fire upon her, and urged her fellows and Turians alike: "Get moving!"

They ran down the hallway until they reached the tunnels dug in the bedrock again. All the while, they were being chased by a persistent enemy that nonetheless was never in enough numbers to pierce through Shepard's shield. Then, Hana grinned to herself:

"Let's see how they manage now." A command, then red warning lights started blinking all over her HUD. She triggered the ejection system: "Nerf THIS!"

"FIRE IN THE HOLE! MOVE! MOVE!" Anderson yelled. D-Va raced over to them. Zaryanova and Shepard covered their retreat. The latter had her squad-shield deployed, and the former protected Song from enemy fire with a projected particle barrier. The moment the Korean pilot had cleared the shield, Aaliyah and the Russian disengaged, retreated around the corner, and dashed away in a dead run after the rest of the team.

The explosion tossed Shepard away and knocked Zarya prone. Hundreds of tons of rock crashed down behind them, sealing the passageway. The Russian helped the dazed Aaliyah stand up, and they kept racing forward and upward, the aftershocks of the avalanche creating cracks in the walls and the low ceiling above them.

Only when they reached the final checkpoint where the Turians had desperately fought to hold the cyborgs back a few days earlier did they stop.

"Where's… where's Reaper?" was Shepard's first question when she managed to catch her breath.

"Don't you fret, he'll turn up," Zarya muttered. "I've seen him survive worse than this."

Vakarian noticed the exchange. "I should know better than to ask, but what  _is_  he?"

The deputy Overwatch commander shook her head. "Shepard here told you what you need to know about him."

Indeed, they came upon Reaper on a tunnel intersection as they made their way back to the surface. This time, the Overwatch troopers reluctantly accorded him a nod in thanks for his work which he returned with just a cold glance.

Shepard did not. They stared at each other for a long second, then she walked past him in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note:_ a heartfelt thank you to **BrokenLifeCycle** for proofreading and ideas.


	11. Citadel: Act I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faces new and old crowd the stage in a universe where the Alliance and the Citadel have yet to learn to coexist.

Omega

The hangar door opened with a whine of gears begging for oil, just in time for the shuttle to race inside at breakneck speed and brake exactly on place with inhuman accuracy. Just as fast, the hangar door slid back into its closed position, concealing the craft from view.

Miranda Lawson observed from behind the thick glass of the observation deck, watching as the shuttle touched down softly. A score of heavily armed troopers were spread around that landing bay, backed up by four hardsuits, and an equal team had been tasked with guarding all passages leading to that obscure place, one of many such secret facilities on that dark twin of the Citadel.

She had hated the place ever since she had first set foot on it. On the decks way above her head, where the denizens dwelt, the air was warm, filthy and tinged with a mix of odours her acute senses had dissected into sulphur, hot metal and sweat from half a dozen different races.  _Why am I supposed to do this here again?_

She knew the answer, of course. While there were tons of places on the Terminus worlds that were more discrete and out of the way, a few ships traversing such desolate locales would draw a lot more attention than just another shady shuttle entering a shady hangar for what undoubtedly was some sort of shady business, which was the norm for almost any sort of business conducted in Omega. Besides, even if humans were pariahs on Citadel space because of their omnic associates, here they were far from an unusual sight.

It rankled her judgment that the place was the default meeting location for the unofficial contacts between Alliance and Citadel officers: besides the usual criminals, mercenaries, smugglers and refugees, the station was crawling with agents belonging to almost every intelligence service worth its salt. Such people added an element of hazard to that operation, and she had been painstakingly thorough when planning to counter it — none of the troopers bore any sort of insignia, their weapons were the best a buyer could get from any of the black marketeers that openly plied their trade there, and the installation itself had housed a notorious ring of Batarian slavers before intermediaries had 'negotiated' their removal.

And damn if she did not  _hate_  it there. Even if she knew better than to let her discomfort get in the way of her work, after each visit to Omega she had felt the need to seclude herself in a sauna for days. This situation was no exception.

The shuttle door slid open. A man clad in nondescript black powered armor came out. The troopers spread over the bay kept their weapons pointed at the shuttle as the worker mechs — not omnics, the ruler of Omega was not keen on having AIs on her station and she was feared enough for her ban to be enforced — unloaded the tank-like cylinder and maneuvered it into a standing position.

The man gestured curtly at the observation deck. Miranda nodded, turned around and left the room, followed by her quartet of guards, to walk down the flight of stairs and cross the doorway into the hangar bay proper.

Another man was already by the tank when she entered, tapping commands into his omni-tool and frowning as he scrolled down the readout from the instruments on the containment tank. Miranda addressed him:

"So?"

The man did not turn to face her. "Let us hope they did things right back then."

"It's legit." It was a question, not a statement.

"It matches what we know about them."

Lawson glanced at the man in the black armor. He only uttered in a deep, hoarse voice:

"Open it."

This time, the medic did turn to Miranda. She nodded imperceptibly, then signaled to one of the armored troopers. At once, men and hardsuits alike raced to redeploy and reinforce the other team manning the security barriers on the corridors that led to that hangar.

Two minutes later, only the medical officer, the man in black armor and Lawson stood there, facing the cylinder emblazoned with the Talon crest.

In the silence, the man approached the antiquated keyboard-based control panel and started typing commands. A screen turned on, showing all things he had already read via his omni-tool — core temperature… pulse… brain activity…

At last, some yellow warning lights turned on, and alerts flashed on the screen. The curved, shielded metal doors slowly split apart, to reveal the contents of the tank: a woman, her skin blue and pale, hair black and very long.

The medic was briefly taken by the raw appeal of those curves, then he digited another command. Ducts on the base of the tank drained away the liquids holding the woman in suspension. A jolt shook that body, and the thick crystal glass split in two and neatly slid out of the way.

The blue-skinned woman fell to her knees on the spot. The medic reached out to steady her — and immediately was slammed down by a hand reaching for his throat.

Then the pitiless yellow eyes went to Miranda first, and to the man in black armor next.

" _Qui sont-ils?"_  she asked coldly.

Reaper allowed himself a grim smile. It was the face of a predator meeting an equal.

"Your new employers."

* * *

Moon - Horizon Lunar Colony

The atmosphere on the main conference hall in the Citadel Embassy was barely one step above hostile. The Turian troopers on guard duty had no visible weapons other than some sidearms, but they all resembled coiled snakes: all they needed was a motive.

"Secretary Udina, welcome," the Turian ambassador greeted him with a courteousness that fooled no one present. "What brings you to us so unexpectedly?"

Donnel Udina was fuming with outrage. His sharp gestures and stony expression proclaimed it loudly: "Ambassador Sevocus, I am here to protest the continuous attempts of Citadel spies to steal our secrets."

The challenge was blunt as a fist to the face. The Asari representative recoiled and warned, "You should be careful when making such accusations, Secretary." Amaya Myrashi let her words linger before adding: "You cannot take them back."

Udina's face did not change a whit. He tapped instead his omni-tool a few times, and the device projected a hologram recording. The quality was not deserving of any prizes, but it was clear enough: it showed a squad of troopers storming a flat, catching the host and his Salarian guest completely unawares.

"Mister 'Jarrod Piks' is under arrest. We staged this meeting to compromise him without a shadow of a doubt. He has consistently attempted to bribe, cajole or extort some of our personnel into surrendering some of the delicate research they are involved in to him." Contemptuously he tossed a tablet computer into the hands of the guard nearest to Sevocus. "Now, would you like to go back on your warning, miss Myrashi?"

Sevocus' face did not change. "Mister Secretary, may I congratulate your security services for their efficiency. The Council condemns espionage and neither encourages nor sponsors such abhorrent activity on your space. But, if I may point out, mister Piks was accorded diplomatic immunity, as agreed under the terms of the Treaty of Pokhara."

"Diplomatic immunity does not imply condoning such blatant attempts at interfering with our research!" Udina raged. "Don't take us for dullards, mister Ambassador! For years on we have been on to mister Piks and other 'associates' working out of your embassy. All the time you have waxed about how 'abhorrent' those clandestine activities are, and promised the cooperation of the Council, yet all we have seen on your part are more of such acts!" He stared at Sevocus for several instants, before adding in an official voice: "Mister Piks will be held until the Council issues a formal apology and provides solid guarantees against this kind of activity reiterating."

Myrashi's face darkened. "So you will violate the sacred persona of a diplomat? This goes both ways, Secretary. What about miss Goyle's mission in the Citadel? Would you consider it ethical for us to bring her in for questioning regarding her associations in Council Space?"

"Do not liken ambassador Goyle's cultural rapprochement to your illicit activities!" Udina stormed. "Anita endeavors to heal the breach of trust you have consistently attempted to widen with blunders like these. You arrest her and you doom efforts on both sides to failure."

For two tense seconds, Udina and the Citadel envoys measured each other. The Salarian representative, one Forlall Bazeni, had not uttered a single word, his bulgy eyes fixated all the while on Udina instead.

"I will transmit your demands to the Council for consideration. Have a good day, mister Secretary." Haughtily, the Turian ambassador turned on his heel and left the hall. Bazeni followed him without comment. The most distraught of the three was Myrashi, who hesitated for a split-second before walking after her fellow diplomats.

Udina took a deep breath, then also turned on his heel and made his way out of the embassy. He was immediately joined outside by a quartet of troopers.

David Anderson studied the stony face and ventured: "I take it that it did not go well."

The diplomat's scowl deepened. "Did you really expect any better? They threatened to retaliate against Ambassador Goyle in the Citadel." He was still angry, and it showed on his step as they walked to the tram station.

Zaryanova frowned. Deep lines were set in her slavic face now. The hair that she had used to dye pink was now iron-gray in color. But her powerful frame still had the strength of steel and her step was as spirited and vigorous as ever. Today, however, instead of the deep blue uniform usually worn by Starwatch personnel, she was dressed in ceremonial white and yellow. "It was among the possibilities."

"They won't dare. Goyle has a lot of prestige and is the official Ambassador for the Alliance. This Piks we got our hands on is a goon. It would be seen as a disproportionate response if they arrested her."

"But they will be putting a very close eye to her activities there. That may make our few positive relations on Citadel space uncomfortable."

"Bah! Let them look all that they want. There is nothing to find." And that was about as much as Udina dared to say this close to the Citadel embassy.

Except for the diplomat, who excused himself on grounds of being both busy and disruptive — not untrue at all, given who would attend the next meeting —, the underground tram took them to the oldest section of the colony, one that dated back to the days when the place was but a small research center.

It was a strange place for a memorial, but still, there it was. And, yet again that day, the sight of it took Aaliyah Shepard back. Retaking the colony from the sentient apes that had seized it after a bloody riot had been an equally bloody affair, one that only Winston, the Overwatch legend, had survived by escaping to Earth before it had taken place. It had been only reasonable, then, that the gorilla had found his final resting place on lunar soil.

For a memorial, it was spartan. Only two gravestones were set on the center of the circular hall: that of Winston's, and that of his surrogate father. In front of them, a single flame was lit, one that always burned.

Colonel Shepard's eyes were not on the gravestones, though. She was surveying instead the set of faces assembled. Most of the people assembled there were Starwatch operatives, to whom Winston was a hero on the level of legendary leaders of nations such as Charles de Gaulle.

A small group, however, was clad, like Zarya, in the yellow and white colors of Starwatch's parent organization. They were the last living remnant, people that had fought next to him half a century ago: Genji Shimada the cyborg ninja, the ever-youthful Lena Oxton, Tekhartha Zenyatta the Shambali leader, and the venerable John Morrison. Next to them, now dressed in the deep navy blue of Starwatch, was the next generation, chief among them Anika Ziegler and Layali Amari.

_Has it been ten years already?_  The memory sprang to mind unbidden. News of Winston's passing had come during one of Starwatch's deployments on the Skyllian Verge. They had just concluded a lengthy operation against a well organized band of Batarian corsairs when they had been recalled back to Earth.

However long in the past it was, it still brought tears to the eyes of the Overwatch veterans. Tracer was far from her usual cheerful self. Her choice of outfit for the occasion was a tribute to her friend and savior, the flight jacket paired with the bright orange leggings. She had no goggles on, however. She could not keep them on with tears spilling out continuously.

The other signs of how much times had changed since the days of Overwatch walked in some ten-odd minutes after Shepard's own arrival. To the representatives from the Citadel Council, the occasion was a formality, but one they had been invited to every year, hoping they would learn more from humanity and their omnic allies. The initiative had been successful on an individual level, and time would tell if it would influence the Council's perceptions of humanity enough for the severe restrictions put into place for Alliance activities on their space to be eased.

The ceremony was not long. The presence of the people honoring those interred there was more than enough. A vice admiral gave an eulogy, commending Winston for his indefatigable spirit and his determination on his quest for peace and harmony, noting how he had been a bridge between different worlds — and also highlighting how necessary such people were in times when fear and mistrust plagued the relations between the Alliance and other cultures in the stars. It was, if anything, an elliptic jab at both the Citadel envoys present and the Alliance leadership for their inability to find common ground. That struck Shepard as odd, and actually had her focus on this Steven Hackett that had spoken so daringly.

After the ceremony was complete, the hundred-odd people assembled there were led to an adjacent hall for drinks. Shepard took some cider herself, and waited until the cadre of Overwatch veterans finished their private talk and spread out over the hall to approach Morrison.

She saluted: "Sir."

The elderly man appraised her approvingly and saluted back. "Hello, colonel. It's a pleasure to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

"You seem to have done well for yourself."

"I can't complain. We've got our hands full through and through, though."

Morrison snorted. "It's not like you just have Earth to keep an eye out for. Compared to you, we had it easy."

Shepard smiled. "Different challenges. You had to worry about Talon and some rogue omnics."

"Whereas you are in the forefront of a cold war being fought in two fronts." Morrison eyed the Asari ambassador. The alien woman was studying Zenyatta behind an expressionless face that nonetheless told him much.

"Well, mostly one. The other one is a bit beyond our purview, as you know."

Morrison shook his head. "I'm not as well informed as I used to be."

Which was, to a point, something he had decided himself, Shepard knew. "Has Zarya brought you up to speed, sir?"

A curt nod. "She did. Well, it's not as though we'd be seeing eye to eye with the Hegemony anytime soon."

Shepard returned the nod. "Push has not yet come to shove. I was hoping we'd never come to that point, but…"

"Sore egos'll do that to you."

"I would have hoped things at that level weren't handled personally."

"The Batarians are a funny bunch, colonel. Think early 21st Century North Korea."

It was, if anything, an accurate comparison. "Those madmen liked to make life miserable for their neighbors too." She glanced at the Turian ambassador. "What wouldn't I give to know which side will the Council fall on."

"You pays your money and you takes your chance. They have no love for neither of us."

"Batarians have no AIs. Nothing that we know of," she corrected herself. As they had renounced Citadel membership, they were no longer bound by their laws. "But getting to our current state of affairs took us the better part of a century."

"And we've coexisted with omnics for a generation now."

Shepard shook her head. "If only we could tell these politicians how scared we were ourselves. Aren't you astonished at how well things have turned out on that end, sir?"

Morrison grunted his agreement. "What do you think that says about us, colonel?"

A shrug. "Isn't it the fate of children to outstrip their parents?"

"Well, I don't see many omnics starting wars of conquest or making life horrible for their fellow citizens, whether organic or synthetic."

Shepard knew that as fact. Even those omnics that harbored separatist ideas were correct and measured in their dealings with humanity. If anything, whatever animosity there was against organics was directed against the Citadel Council for the massacre of Pokhara.

Morrison changed subjects: "Zarya told me there are no news on our common friend."

She had to suppress a chill. "No confirmed sightings. We've been hearing some disconnected rumblings about him possibly being on the Terminus worlds."

Another grunt. "He just had to get back at me before vanishing, had he."

That had been a nasty piece of business. Reaper himself had leaked out how he had saved the elite Overwatch ranks from total destruction during the First Contact War, twice at that. The resulting media firestorm had caused, among other things, for the agency to be subsumed into the N7 program, planting the seeds of Starwatch in the process — and Morrison's retirement.

Shepard replied in as neutral a voice as she could manage: "Those who remain know that was a load of bullshit, sir."

Surprisingly, Morrison half-smiled. "He did me a favor, actually. You're not supposed to be in the boonies on your seventies."

Aaliyah grinned sadly in turn. "You're not a good liar, sir."

A brief, bitter laugh, then he became serious again. "Something still itches about that."

A nod. "You don't buy that was his whole goal either."

"Swallow his pride to work next to his avowed enemies, even to save them?" A snort. "Of course not. He was after something else. But what?"

Shepard sipped her cider while her mind grappled with the question — albeit briefly. She had went over that topic so many times already without coming to anything resembling at least a satisfactory guess that it took her a split second to shrug. "Well, sir, given the story between the two of you, if you don't know, then nobody does."

The Starwatch officer paused her train of thought momentarily to gauge the atmosphere in the hall. It was definitely emotional, as a homage to such a hero as Winston was supposed to be, but also somewhat stiff. The Citadel envoys were not getting much in the way of friendly glances.

Morrison read her thoughts: "How would you rate this ceremony as a way to ease tensions, colonel?"

Another sip. "Not much of a success, sir. But then again, they aren't real big on humility."

The former Overwatch commander frowned. "They're the big kid in the schoolyard. That's the kind of behavior that goes with it."

_And, like a school bully, they feel they're entitled to anything they want._  The Alliance had vociferously protested the espionage incident, as she had just heard from Udina, but the sad truth was that it was in no position to retaliate. There were virtually no commercial links between both sides. All intelligence operations on Citadel space had to be conducted by mercenaries and criminal elements operating there — none of which were exactly trustworthy. The only thing the Alliance could do was to increase its penetration of the Terminus systems, a policy that, right now, equated sowing seeds with painstaking care on unfriendly soil.

"I'd never have guessed they resemble us so much." Then, after a brief pause, she added: "What do you think that would happen, sir?"

Morrison did not need to ask for clarification. Dispassionately he replied: "It would be bloody. If they really were serious about it they'd win, but it would cost them. Greatly."

* * *

Omega

Miranda was staring at Wilson on the screen. The bald medical officer was interviewing the Talon assassin Reaper had brought into the fold. She had Widowmaker's file on her own tablet computer. Amélie Lacroix was a name that had struck fear into those who knew of her between the First and Second Omnic crisis; once a loving wife, the terrorist group had used her to get to her husband. That assassination had been one of the nails in the coffin for Overwatch, and the first of a long string of murders.

She could understand why she had been feared. The woman's eyes were unique, not just because of their yellowish tint. A normal person's eyes tended to jump slightly, to make minute adjustments, even if they were consistently looking at something or someone. Hers did not.

How Widowmaker was alive at all was a mystery. Her core temperature was way below that of a normal, healthy human. Initial tests showed hints of nanites on her body. Micromachines had come a long way since then, and they had been used to treat hypothermia, but never to  _sustain_ someone in a hypothermic state. That was an avenue of research that showed promise.

On the screen, Wilson stood up from his chair and left the cell. A minute later he was entering Miranda's makeshift office.

"The subject is physically fit for duty," the medic started without preamble. "I advise to have her psychologically screened before assignment, however."

"Why is that?"

"According to… Reaper's report, this woman has been extensively conditioned. We have no information about the procedures followed, and no metrics to gauge how efficient that conditioning is now. Actually, I would recommend attempting to remove all such foreign programming before going forward with applying anything of our own."

"And if we cannot?"

A shrug. "If that can't be done, she's a liability. I wouldn't vouch for her adherence to orders. We could only deploy her alongside Reaper, if we can deploy her at all. She'd be most useful as a research subject."

_Turn such an experienced sniper into a Guinea pig?_  She could already hear the objections of the Illusive Man in her head.  _Especially after all the expense we went through to retrieve her?_

She hardened her look. "Your assignment is to make sure the subject is ready for deployment as any other Nemesis operative. Do what you have to do. If there is anything we can learn from her, find it out."

Wilson frowned and nodded, not bothering to point out those goals were very hard to compatibilize. This ice queen would order him to find a way. "Yes ma'am."

After the man left her office, she locked the door. Then she stood on the small circular platform before her desk and tapped a few commands on her omni-tool. Lights died.

Then the sitting, smoking figure of the Illusive Man appeared alone on the blackened room.

"Miranda," he said in greeting, exhaling a puff of smoke.

"The retrieval of subject Lacroix is complete," she reported.

"Good." He took a hit from the cigar, then asked: "How long before she is fit for deployment?"

"Wilson is performing the tests to ascertain that. He raised some objections." She went on to describe the medical officer's initial evaluation and concerns.

"It would be a shame if we cannot employ her to our satisfaction, but if anything, there is a lot we can learn from her." Another puff of smoke. "I have information on your next target."

"I'm listening, sir."

"She's on Illium. She is going to be the intermediary for a sale of restricted cybernetic hardware between Alliance and Citadel criminals. We have a small window of time on this, Miranda," he cautioned her, "so make haste."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 for proofreading, input and suggestions.


	12. Citadel: Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men and women from a bygone age confront demons both within and without.

Earth - Japan, Mie Prefecture 

"Kyosuke-san."

" _Hai._ " A young man stood up at once on command and bowed twice, first at the elderly man and then at the woman sitting at his right.

" _Omote gyaku,_ " the woman ordered.

" _Hai._ " The young man turned to another student: "Sayaka-san?"

" _Hai._ " A girl stood up and bowed.

Kyosuke stood in place, appearing mostly relaxed, except for his alert eyes. The girl attacked, her rigid fist aimed at his chin, but he neatly sidestepped and seized her by the wrist. An arm twist, a tripping leg, and the girl was knocked prone. Kyosuke had not let go of the arm. Carefully he leaned on the wrist:

" _Itai!_ " Sayaka clapped on the tatami with her free hand, hard, twice. Her opponent released her at once. He helped her stand up, then both students bowed to each other, and the girl sat again.

" _Yoi,_  Kyosuke-san," the woman next to the elderly man approved.

" _Arigato,_  Kyoko-sensei."

The woman then called up another student to demonstrate another technique. The class went on normally, as they always did.

And all the while Hanzo watched, measuring, judging. For twelve years now his son and his granddaughter had ran this ninjutsu dojo for the clan. He had been there most of the time, advising, correcting, but not teaching. He had passed on that torch. Kyoko was an excellent sensei. The youngest member of the Shimada clan capable of instruction was particularly dedicated to her task, even more so after the mantle had been passed on to her. Hiroshi Shimada had followed in his uncle's steps, and was serving as a Starwatch agent and instructor.

One of the shoji doors slid open, and his other granddaughter Hitomi came in. She waited patiently until Kyoko finished observing another pair of students as they practised, then at the sensei's gesture she approached Hanzo: "Excuse me, grandfather, but you have guests."

The elderly ninja did not ask who it was. The dojo was not remotely located, nor was it up a mountain or a hill. Instead, it was in a small village relatively close to Ise. Its secrecy came from its lack of publicity: it was only known to clan members — and Starwatch. And the clan would have warned him about new students coming there. He stood up, acknowledged Kyoko's bow with a nod, then followed Hitomi out of the dojo, walking some steps on a manicured garden and into a small house.

Two people were waiting for him there.

"Hello, brother." Genji Shimada knelt and bowed deeply.

Hanzo took his time to look at him. Genji looked exactly as he had been before their falling out and that fateful day he had taken so long to come to terms with: rich, black hair, his frame solid, his body fit and healthy.

Which he knew of course to be a faithful synthetic reconstruction of the original Genji. Cybernetics had come a long way since the days of Overwatch. Modern-day cyborgs and synths could be made to appear nigh-indistinguishable from normal humans.

It was blasphemous, but that was the existence the older Shimada had condemned the younger Shimada to. He bowed back, not kneeling, but very deeply as well. "Welcome, brother. It's good to see you."

Tracer had waited well behind Genji, near Hanzo's granddaughter. The relationship between the two brothers had not been exactly idyllic; it had taken the old ninja decades to come to terms with the fact that his brother was alive and had no enmity towards him.

The passing of time was written on Hanzo. His long hair was now solid white, his skin wrinkled and worn like an old parchment, but however much it tried to, age had not bent his back. Lena still remembered how the archer had looked when she had first met him: tall, supple, severe.

This was yet another reminder of how inhuman she had become, and despite how often she had faced it, it had never become any easier to deal with it. The world she had known had slipped away. Only a few friends remained, and soon, they would too vanish.

Hanzo eyed her, aware of the demons that tormented her and guessing at their motives. He had been youthful and lithe as well, but no more. Each time she had visited him over the years the difference had been more pronounced, but he had accepted it. He only regretted one thing in life, and his brother's forgiveness had done much to mitigate that burden.

"Welcome to you, too, Lena. How are you?"

She smiled. "You know, the usual thing. Wake up early in the morning, exercise, go to the lab, do my share of work. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Everything about you is out of the ordinary."

"To you, perhaps."

The brothers shared a look. Tracer's cheerful persona was also fading away. In the years that had followed Winston's passing, Lena had grown more thoughtful and withdrawn.

"Zenyatta sends his regards," she added. "He was supposed to come with us, but he was asked to attend a ceremony in Ise. He will be joining us when it's complete."

Actually, a part of the venerable omnic leader was there. His consciousness was linked, via Genji's neural implants, with that of his student. He had reluctantly agreed to it out of Genji's insistence, as the younger Shimada was worried about Tracer and since they spent a lot of time together he wanted to support her as best he could. She was not stubborn or mule-headed, but nonetheless it had taken years for her to find it within herself to follow Genji's suggestion and start studying under the omnic monk. Neither had Tracer been the quiet, contemplative sort — until recently, that was.

"That is very kind of him. I have seen little of him over the years."

"He rarely visits Earth anymore, brother," Genji informed. "Nowadays he spends most of his time traveling between colonies where the Shambali have a presence."

"The duties of a leader," Hanzo said gravely. "It's understandable, considering what happened at that little planet in the middle of nowhere."

"Not to mention the Citadel being scared out of their wits of our omnic friends," Tracer quipped with distaste. "Thanks," she accepted the small cup Hanzo's granddaughter Hitomi was offering her. Similar cups were handed out to the Shimada brothers.

"How are you feeling, Lena?" The old ninja decided he wanted to get that out of the way fast.

"Honestly?" Tracer shook her head. "It hurts, Hanzo-sama. A tenday ago I attended the ceremony on Winston's memorial. Morrison was there, too, alongside Zarya. He's old, too, older than you. Now I spend time mostly with Mercy's and Pharah's daughters and grandchildren. They'll grow old, too, someday. I won't."

"And you fear being left alone."

"Well, not quite, brother," Genji cut in. "What she really fears is feeling detached from everything."

Lena drained her cup. "Years go by, and things change little. In the past, there were terrorists and rogue omnics. Now there are aliens. We worked so hard, lost friends and family…" She shook her head. "Nothing ever changes."

"That's not true, Lena. We did make a difference. Without us, there would be no coexisting with omnics."

"This is the world we built," Hanzo backed his brother. "This is the world we saved. Had we not acted, there would be either no omnics or no humanity at all."

Tracer was flustered. She was failing to get her point across. "You can feel satisfied at that, Hanzo-sama. I also felt like that. But… people feel ever more distant to me. I can't connect with them. Even when they don't know who I am." She sighed. "Soon Morrison will be gone, and there will be another service to attend to. Soon you will be gone, too."

The older Shimada took no offence. He could understand. He had seen his own world slip away, too. He did not have the strength of yore. He was not a sensei anymore. His son and his granddaughter were carrying on with his legacy. But he did not have to worry about feeling detached. He was in the winter of his life, and was living it out the way he had wanted it: his clan revered him as an honored elder, he had reconciled with his brother, and his descendants would continue after him just in the same fashion his ancestors had. He could depart in peace.

There would be no such thing for Lena.

"The gods were wise when they decided not to make us immortal."

Hitomi poured them all more saké, bowed, and left. Lena raised her cup. "I'll drink to that, Hanzo-sama."

The Shimada brothers drank with her. Hanzo quipped humorously afterwards, "I trust only comradely good fellowship is behind your visit."

Lena laughed out loud. "Yes, Hanzo-sama, don't worry. Nothing happened to Hiroshi-san."

"Is he still posted on the Aconcagua?"

"Yes, brother," Genji replied. "He has spent a lot of time with the Asari emigres, studying their fighting style. He told me he wants to develop a discipline incorporating some of their elements."

"Ever the daring one, Hiroshi." Hanzo's brow knotted. "I surmise it won't be easy. These Asari use their own…  _powers_ —" the old ninja intentionally accented the word to stress how arcane it appeared to him "—fluidly on their martial arts. He intends to learn those, too?"

Tracer shook her head. "No. Those can't be learned. You have to somehow survive being exposed to eezo in the womb to get those." She did not add that Mila Palukhina and Anika Ziegler were working on a project to replicate that ability on synths and cyborgs using nanites and implants. That she had been let in on such highly sensitive stuff at all marveled her a bit.

A nod. "I find it disquieting, how we have openly let those aliens into our territory while the Council doesn't let us into theirs."

"It's part of a long term plan, brother," Genji replied. He was faced with the everyday implications of the emigre program and had already considered many of the things his elder brother had in his mind now. "They fear us. If we can get them to know us better, maybe that fear will go away a bit. Besides, the emigres are very few. Every one of them is continuously kept under surveillance. An omnic is tasked to each of them when they apply for residence, and they never take their eyes off them."

"It helps that the omnics aren't exactly all smiles about them. No doubt because of the war," Tracer noted. "The Asari haven't complained. If anything, they take it in stride."

"As long as they don't find out things they are not meant to," Hanzo quipped dryly as a spark of an idea flashed in his mind: "Still, these aliens are very long lived, aren't they? You should consider requesting to join the program as a… a case officer, would it be? You may get to learn something useful to you from them."

"If only I was allowed to," Lena lamented. "You know, military regs, plus being an immortal freak, that kind of stuff." She shook her head. "Sometimes I'm tempted to quit everything and disappear."

* * *

Now that over fifty years had passed since Mondatta's assassination, it would have been easy to misconstrue Zenyatta as an anachronism. The venerable omnic leader had not opted for a more modern-looking frame, instead choosing to continuously upgrade the body — or bodies — that had harbored his consciousness.

And in the same way human celebrities and gurus tended to do, in choosing so Zenyatta had become a trendsetter for most omnics. True self is without form, he would usually repeat, and by appearing unconcerned with his appearance he encouraged his kin to look within whenever they sought to reassert their identity — as opposed to changing their outer shell. Of course, as with some Zen Buddhist koans, that phrase could be read in exactly the opposite way, and some omnics did, modifying or even replacing their frames entirely to better suit their selves.

Insofar as it helped his kin find their way, the omnic sage did not mind. He had no claim to the Truth; he only had claim to his truth. It was his self-imposed purpose to help others find theirs.

Such was the case with Tracer now.

"Peace be upon you, Lena," he greeted.

"Thank you, Zeny," she smiled, equally warmly. His near-featureless faceplate was a throwback to the ancient days of Overwatch, but she had associated it with tranquility and wisdom for so long that it did not rouse her demons.

Not too much, that was. The omnic had learned to read humans so accurately he could as well be called a telepath. "Your soul is heavy. Have your explorations uncovered a wound?"

She sat opposite him on the manicured grass. The class was still going on inside the dojo behind him. "I followed your advice. I've been reading everything I could get my hands on related to unnaturally long life."

"And?"

She took a deep breath. "Would you believe this… of all the things I've found, a comic depicting Gilgamesh comes closest to representing what I feel."

A nod. "Share your findings with me."

She did. Gilgamesh was a mythical figure, though this one depiction was not particularly faithful to the Sumerian myth. It showed him as a fundamentally human person, and a broken one at that: in becoming immortal, the king of Uruk had lost the ability to relate with those who were not, and the man despaired at making his city-state a more livable place, futilely striving against the apathy that corroded the souls of his subjects.

"It's the same thing that's happening to me," she blurted out at the end, the verbal admission unexpectedly painful. "This king saw how the walls of his city crumbled to dust and his citizens didn't care, no matter what he told them or how he tried to cajole or persuade them to care."

With a hint of amusement in his voice, the omnic pointed out: "You're no ruler, Lena."

She smiled at the good-natured jab. "I guess that one's a relief." She grew serious again. "What this Gilgamesh did in the end was to fake his own death. When his subjects realized he was gone, they were overjoyed, and the city blossomed again without him."

A thoughtful nod. "A very grim and unflattering comparison."

A shrug. "I know, but it doesn't help."

"His subjects had to have motives not to obey him anymore."

She shook her head once. "I'm not sure… maybe it's because they believed no one had chances of becoming kings themselves while he was there?"

The sage made no gesture. "You hold kingship over no one."

Tracer frowned, bowed her head, and then hazarded another guess: "Because they could not dispute or challenge his orders?"

"Were that the case, no armies would have ever been assembled. Only hordes."

Again Lena frowned. "Because he would be king forever and… no, because they were not immortals like him and they envied him?"

Slowly, one of the spheres that always orbited Zenyatta hovered upwards, while the rest continued to float around him. The omnic stared at the single lone sphere contemplatively, then noted, "Envy is a very powerful and damaging emotion. But envy alone does not lead to despondency."

She was lost in thought for a while. Behind Zenyatta, inside the pagoda, Kyoko was correcting a student as he tried to perform a technique.

At length, she concluded: "No, it's not envy. He was in a place no one could ever reach. I suppose there's no room for ambition when you're ruled by an immortal." She struggled with words: "Not because he'd be aggressively hunting down other aspirants to the throne, but… it would be like living all your life under the shadow of someone who's absolutely perfect at whatever you do and knowing you'll never surpass her. That would be awful."

"Helplessness." The omnic sage entwined his fingers, except for his outstretched indices. "Having an eternity of time is no guarantee of attaining perfection. But it does heighten your chances. And communicating what you learn to others will become ever harder."

Suddenly, she was taken back to her teenage years, back to high school, when a curmudgeonly teacher had hammered the basic facts of philosophy in her mind — chief among them, the tale of Plato's cave.

"So I have to stay fallible."

"Aren't we all essentially flawed?" The omnic asked rhetorically. "The closer you get to perfection, the further away you will be from your fellows."

Lena mulled over that. That small piece of wisdom was in no way a silver bullet that would put all of her demons to rest — but it was a beginning.

A hint of a smile appeared on her lips. "That's a start."

Zenyatta could not smile, but his voice became equally warm. "One step of many." The spheres circled around him twice. Then he asked: "I would see it that way. I wonder why do you."

Her newfound warmth faded at once. "Gilgamesh would say that, as he lived on, he also lost the ability to tell people apart. One man was no different to another, he'd always see their skull and bones beneath their skin." Tracer raised her eyes to look into those of the omnic monk. Her voice became a whisper: "I don't want to end up like that."

Suddenly, one of the spheres was smashed by another with a metallic  _clang_. Two more spheres followed the first. The one on the receiving end wobbled jerkily, then settled back into its original orbit. Then again, three spheres smashed against it — only this time, the one being attacked barely shifted from its course.

"We grow harder and insensitive in the face of adversity. Your scars feel not as much as unblemished skin."

"You usually say something like that, how adversity is an opportunity for change."

The spheres started to spin around Zenyatta wildly fast, so much so that her eyes could not follow them. "Desensitizing yourself will blind you to the suffering of others. Don't we relate to each other through our pain?" Then, as suddenly, the spheres slowed back down. "Do not be so strong, Lena. You and I both must learn to live with our wounds."

Cronos Station 

The door slid closed behind Widowmaker. She looked around her, looking for windows or cameras or something like that, but found nothing—

—then a laser grid painted her body and the lights died out.

And her figure appeared on a vast office in front of a single man, the huge blazing body of a star behind him.

"Lacroix."

She fixated her yellow eyes on the man. He was simply dressed, yet everything about him screamed sophistication. He was holding a cigar in his right hand, and occasionally let out small puffs of smoke. His eyes—

—were  _strange._  No normal eyeballs, but some sort of bionic implants instead, turquoise-blue lights glittering where the iris should be, over a black sclera.

"You have me at a disadvantage here."

The man put his cigar to his lips, then exhaled slowly. "My apologies. I know you don't like it, but it's for our security."

"Our security?"

"Yours and mine both." She felt his piercing gaze scan her, then: "How do you feel?"

She crossed her arms and returned the stare. "Dispense with the pleasantries. Who are you?"

"I'd expected you to ask Miranda about that."

"She's your underling. I don't care for pawns. She'd tell me whatever suits you best."

"Miranda is my lieutenant and as capable an officer as you're going to find. In many ways," the man added. "I trust you've gotten acquainted with the capabilities of people like her?"

"A lot has changed while I slept. But not the basics." She left the rest unsaid: people die to a bullet all the same. That comment should have been accompanied by a shrug, but there was too little of Amélie in Widowmaker still.

"You've been very tight-lipped about your time frozen."

"I slept. That's all there is to know." Her glare grew even more piercing: "You haven't answered my question."

Another puff of smoke. "We are a team tasked with doing the work the Alliance can't or won't do. We are concerned with humanity in a universe filled with people that have little love for us."

 _Another take on Blackwatch._  "So you're a paramilitary supremacist group."

A shrug. "If you will. I'm surprised you care."

The off-handed remark startled her.  _But of course. They would not wake me up out of generosity._

But now, the still tender Amélie fought to assert herself over Widowmaker, and she won: "So you're just going to give me a rifle and point me at whoever needs killing. That doesn't leave me much of a choice."

The man put the cigar to his mouth, then exhaled slowly. "That didn't seem to bother you before."

He tapped something on a holographic panel, and a screen popped up. It was a view of the Numbani memorial. Amélie recognized Angela Ziegler's figure immortalized in the giant statue near the dome, and a series of plaques bearing names…

Something snapped inside her when she read 'Gérard Lacroix'.

She stood breathlessly, stiff like the statue on that screen, as her mind, heart and soul went into overdrive.

Her memory was a mess, a spotty, blood-soaked blanket on which she could only glimpse a few things, but Gérard's final face was one of those.

If Talon had not been so thorough and keen to strip away her ability to show any feelings, she would have collapsed where she stood and cried her eyes out.

But as it was, all she could do was to stare at the plaque, while her mind desperately struggled —and failed— to push away the image of his shocked and horrified face as he exhaled his last breath.

Her face did not change. There was not a blink, not a gesture.

But a single tear welled from her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Then another.

"This is what you brought me back for?" She whispered. "To torture me?"

He put aside his cigar for a moment. For an instant the guilt-wracked Amélie saw pity on that face. "No. I'm sorry, but it was necessary."

She murmured a curse in French at that comment, but that was as much as she could do, even if her mutilated soul was wailing in grief. More tears spilled, but her face was frozen solid.

"I was better off asleep," she mumbled almost imperceptibly.

"You can make up for that."

Someone else would have raged at that loudly, or smiled bitterly in refusal. She did not.

"Nothing can make up for what I did to Gérard."

"That blood will never come off," the man agreed, "but you can make restitution for the others."

"Save your breath. They did better fifty years ago," was the quiet answer.

He stood up. "We brought you back to give you a new purpose. You can put your skills to use in a way to help humanity." He tapped his omni-tool. A hologram came up: it was the same video feed Secretary Udina had irately shown in the Citadel embassy a scant tenday ago. "The Citadel is determined to asphyxiate us. Their agents work incessantly to steal our technology. They refuse us trading rights, while smugglers in unaligned space trade out our goods to them." Then a holographic map of the galaxy came up: "And then there are the Batarians. They hate the Council for not backing them on their claims against us, but they don't see they are being pawned against us.

"We are surrounded by enemies, Amélie. The Alliance is impotent. They uncover a huge Citadel espionage ring, and what do they do? They 'protest the intrusion.' That's where we come in." He stared at her in the eye. "We can give you a new purpose, a new life, but only if you'll take it. We had to confront you with your past. It hurts, and I'm sorry for that, but I won't apologize. As I said, it was necessary."

Widowmaker took charge as the traumatized Amélie was still numb with shock and pain. "What happens if I accept?"

The man sat back in his chair. "You get to do again what you once did so well. In the company of some of the same people, even."

The hooded, masked specter of Reaper flashed in her mind. "And if I refuse?"

A shrug. "You could help train our operatives, share your knowledge and experience with them. Also, I must admit, Talon went down some avenues of research to create you that remain unexplored up to this day. Your cooperation in that regard would be appreciated." Again the piercing stare. "You must understand, given what you've seen and where you've been —and what you are— it would be next to impossible just to let you go. We need our secrecy to operate."

For a few seconds the woman and the man looked into each other's eyes.

"This will only work if I get to know my targets before I pick them."

He nodded thoughtfully, as if it was a difficult concession to grant, when in reality it was not. He could afford it; he had won. "We can manage that." A tap on a holographic panel, and the conference was over.

The lights turned back on while the door opened behind her with a pneumatic hiss.

"Seems we'll be working together again."

She did not turn to confront Reaper. Her memory was coming back like a rushing torrent, and Amélie quailed before the magnitude of what she had done.

The  _horror_  in Gérard's face would chase her to her grave.

But, as the man with the strange eyes had said, even if that blood could never come off, she could do something to make restitution for the rest.

"Let's just hope it turns out better this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 contributed priceless criticism and encouragement, in particular as I tried to capture the essence of Widowmaker and Zenyatta.


	13. Citadel: Business disrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine patrol develops into a race to stop a corsair raid.

Skyllian Verge - Petra nebula

In the past, it had been a matter of discussion to risk human lives when the advent of artificial intelligence meant that a lot of jobs aboard a starship could be performed by an AI instead, and more efficiently at that. But after omnics had been recognised as sentient individuals, simply throwing synthetics at a problem like so much cannon fodder was as unethical —and unlawful— as throwing fresh recruits off naval school at the same problem.

Now, onboard AI, omnics and humans all worked together to run a ship as a team. It was possible for the AI to do it all by itself, but relying entirely on it created an Achilles' heel someone could eventually exploit. Not that it was likely that the Hegemony had figured out the nuts and bolts of how AIs worked —the Citadel races definitely had the knowledge, but not the willingness to put it to use—, but it was not something to leave up to chance.

"Colonel Anderson, there's a new message for you from Watchpoint: Elysium," the feminine voice reported on the speakers in the combat information center of the  _Thermopylae._

David Anderson, for one, was damned glad to have her. "Thanks, Stella. I'll take it myself."

Aaliyah Shepard followed him by the corner of the eye. "News, skipper?"

He tapped his omni-tool once, frowned briefly, then ordered, "I want agents Oxton, Shimada, Brulirea and Lumiscant."

"On it."

A minute later, the two Overwatch legends and the two omnics joined Anderson and Shepard on the circular briefing room.

"So what's the story?" Tracer asked without ceremony as she sat.

"We just got a priority alert from Admiral Mikhailovich. Stella?"

"Yes, Colonel." At once, everything on the room disappeared, to be replaced by the figure of the Admiral standing on a similar room, with a hologram projector displaying a galaxy map in the middle.

"Colonel Anderson," the veteran Alliance officer said huskily in greeting. "I must interrupt your deployment because of a matter of the highest importance.

"We're still interrogating the Citadel agents belonging to the Piks ring. One of them was running a… personal… enterprise of sorts. He sold information about a freighter delivering supplies to a scientific station on the Petra nebula to a band of Batarian corsairs. They have not yet learned where the station is, but if they have half a brain they'll sweat that out of the crew and attempt to raid it.

"You're the closest ones at hand to deal with this situation. I fear you may nonetheless arrive too late to protect the freighter, but with some luck you may be on time to help the scientists.

"Mikhailovich out."

The hologram faded away. The Starwatch officers exchanged glances.

"Questions?" Anderson asked.

"What kind of lunatic would set up a research station right on the Batarians' doorstep?" Lumiscant asked, her voice rough as sandpaper.

"When they say 'research station', I hear 'listening post'," her colleague, Brulirea, replied wryly.

_We'd know,_  Shepard thought to herself, but added nothing. There were other listening posts around the Skyllian Verge. If this one was yet another, why disguise it as a 'research station' instead of telling them?

"Whatever the reason, it's yet another time we're racing to pull some poor sod's arse out of the fire," Lena quipped bleakly. Then she was reminded of Zenyatta's words: "But then, no one else can."

* * *

"Checkpoint LIMA reached," Stella informed.

"That's my girl," Lena approved. The  _Thermopylae_  did not handle as a fighter jet, but it was nimble enough that sometimes it allowed its designated pilot to have her share of fun. Tracer was universally renowned because of her exploits as an Overwatch agent — and her immense following knew she owed her peculiar condition to a mishap during a test run of an experimental fighter she was piloting. There was nothing Lena Oxton could not get bored of, but flying was close up there.

Mikhailovich's prediction turned out to be true. "Skipper, we're here… and there she is."

Tracer stood up and, after a polite nod to Anderson, left the bridge to join the rest of the squad in the hangar. The CO watched her go, then demanded:

"Stella, I need info."

"The freighter is completely powered down, sir," an operator reported as the destroyer's sensor suite got to work. "The thing's a hunk of metal."

"No hull breaches." Inside the Kodiak shuttle, suited up and ready to go, Shepard was studying the feed on the screen by the bulkhead, her piercing eyes going over the flat shape of the cargo ship.

"The captain did as he was told without fuss," Astrid Martinsson hazarded a guess.

"Maybe he had hoped to save the lives of his crew that way." Genji shook his head. "Poor man."

"Vulture flight, proceed to target with caution," Anderson ordered. He did not want to see the best and brightest of Starwatch dying to a booby-trapped wreck. Batarian corsairs were infamous for those, and very skilled at setting them up.

Starwatch had come to rely on omnics to solve these situations, and this would be one more such time. Brulirea and Lumiscant would have their logic and memory cores decoupled and lodged on special mounts in the shuttle, whence they could remotely control their frames via tightbeam. It was neither comfortable nor enjoyable for either of them —not every omnic was detached from its physical form like Zenyatta was—, but it was the safest course of action.

A few minutes later, the shuttle sped towards the disabled freighter, then about halfway from its destination Tracer cut power to half, to eventually chop speed to barely a tenth with a quarter of the distance to go. Clearly she was taking Anderson's orders to heart.

In the meantime, the omnics, as engineers, were using every form of sensor available to them to take the ship apart. The rest of the Starwatch team waited quietly, a little expectantly, but that was that. It was nowhere near their first such operation, and even if there always existed the chance of the enemy bringing up the unexpected to bear on them, preparation and cool blood had so far defeated such surprises.

So far.

That thought always reared its ugly head on their minds. There was no such thing as too much caution.

Uneasily, Brulirea gave her verdict: "It's stone-cold dead, but I don't like it. There could be laser tripwires or physical devices that do not emit radiation or mechanical devices concealed among the machinery."

"I knew we'd have to do this the old-fashioned way," Shepard groused. "Get that zero-g door open."

Amber rotating lights turned on, setting on warnings on everyone's HUDs. Moments later, the side door slid open, and air whooshed out. The two omnics jumped out, rotated in midair, and landed on their feet on the hull. Brulirea at once worked the emergency access mechanism, and Lumiscant forced the large hatch open. It opened smoothly. As expected, the ship was depressurized.

Shepard slaved her HUD to the sensors in the omnics' frames to follow their progress. They were going painstakingly slowly, and with good reason, as they had perhaps walked some half-dozen steps down the main access hallway when Lumiscant froze:

"There." She sprayed smoke to reveal a series of blue beams. Tripwires. Carefully the omnic followed the beams until she found the emitters. "Here they are…"

Brulirea noticed the devices and her glare traced along the cables attached to them. It was an antiquated, clunky and primitive way of setting up traps, but no less effective, smart or deadly because of that: "Shielded wiring… Fuel cells… Oh. Clever. That's why they did not radiate anything…"

"No way to notice that on scanners."

The rest of the Starwatch team listened. So far, those were smart countermeasures any bomber would put into place to avoid detection, but nothing special. Except for one question, one that had long since found its answer on the sheer hatred batarians harbored for the Alliance: why would corsairs and pirates waste resources into extensively booby-trapping ships they capture?

"The payload?" Tracer asked.

"Hold on, girl… First things first…" There was a brief flash of turquoise. "Power diverted. This section is safe. Moving on."

_In this one case,_  Shepard thought in a flash as the idea hit her like a sandbag falling on her head,  _it has the added purpose of delaying us._  But that kind of work could not be skipped.

As the final verdict from the omnic engineers would go to prove, after nearly an hour of painstakingly slow and methodical work: "The ship was extensively wired… and all the cables snake back to… here." Lumiscant's frame was pointing at a device set next to the huge vessel of the fusion core. The saboteur had rerouted the master power flow through this device as well. "A multistage fusion primer. Tripping any one of the wires would have… jump-started the magnetic containment fields… while flooding the fusion chamber with fuel… and turned this ship into plasma. All it would have taken was a tripped wire."

Neither Anderson nor Shepard were particularly troubled by that development, even if it was proof of a new level of ingenuity. Batarian corsairs were capable of some devious tricks and constantly raising their game.

Instead, their mind was on something else. Time.

"The ship is safe," Brulirea declared.

"And not a moment too soon," Shepard breathed. "Time is on their side. Let's get aboard this hunk of junk and find out where these assholes went. Even if they didn't figure out where this ship was going, they got the crew."

Shepard was followed inside the depowered freighter by Tracer, Genji, Martinsson, Aliyev and Olivera. The XO of the  _Thermopylae_ made a few hand gestures: Olivera would inspect the crew quarters, Aliyev would examine what was left of the communications room, Shepard herself would search the flight deck, and the rest would go about looking for clues in the cavernous cargo hold.

"I don't remember seeing any signs of fighting earlier," Aaliyah said half to herself.

"Slavers," Tracer spat in disgust. "They don't want their merchandise damaged."

"They did not take any chances with this mech," Aliyev noted. He was squatting on his haunches, next to what once had been a standard six-foot worker frame. The boarders had gone out of their way to wreck it beyond hope. "No scorch marks on the walls, no weapon damage… Whatever tore this one apart used sheer brute strength."

"Don't want to meet whoever did it on an alley after dark," Martinsson quipped. She was entering the cargo hold — and was greeted by a similar scene, only multiplied a dozen or so times over. "No," she confirmed softly, "definitely not."

"What is it with aliens that makes them hate us so much?" Brulirea asked tiredly.

"You know that already." There was bile in Lumiscant's answer, black as venom.

None of their human squadmates dedicated even a fraction of an instant to consider the topic. The fear of omnics eventually deciding that humanity was not necessary —or worse, that it was a burden— stubbornly refused to die, even after such a strong show of commitment to coexistence on both sides as the First Contact War had been. That fear had a basis on how omnics were just so much better than humans at a lot of things. Omnics were now pieces of sentient software that could inhabit shells of the most varied sizes; whatever the task was, there was an omnic frame suited for it.

But those people so afraid of omnics seldom asked them what they appreciated in humans. And what omnics appreciated the most was the diversity of ideas and opinions humans produced on any one given subject, something they mightily struggled with — and also human intuition, which was to them downright incomprehensible, despite being fully sentient, independent and self-aware.

Which was, to them, alright to a point. Zenyatta preached for both omnics and humans to avoid perfection.

"Look at that line of eezo!" Martinsson exclaimed as the sensors on her suit spiked.

"The corsairs probably got more than they expected to find here," Genji noted next to her. The raiders had not been exactly careful when handling their loot here: at least one container had partially ruptured, if not more. "I wonder what else was this ship carrying."

"I'm working on it," Shepard reported. Someone had been very smart and used the ship's black boxes to back up all the data on the computers before the raiders had utterly and completely trashed them. They had clearly searched for them —and found and wrecked the dummies prepared for such situations—, but not thoroughly enough. "Stella, I'm patching you through to the black boxes now. Tell us what you find."

"Understood, XO," came the reply.

Aaliyah was digging on her own while the  _Thermopylae's_  AI worked. She did not want any directives screening anything from her. "Genji, this is what you were looking for."

The Overwatch legend went through the cargo manifest on his HUD: nanite canisters… bionics… surgical instruments… hardlight casters… and not a small shipment of eezo.

Martinsson voiced Genji's —and Tracer's— thoughts: "Some scientific station, sir?"

"I have an idea, but nothing solid," the Japanese replied curtly, guarding his misgivings.

"Isn't this odd," they heard Olivera note as she checked the crew quarters.

"What is it, Marcela?" Shepard asked.

"They thoroughly looted the first aid cabinet, down to the last pill and bottle."

"I'm beginning to see a pattern here," Aliyev mused.

"Yes," Genji agreed. "They were a little too meticulous to be corsairs or slavers."

"Wait a minute here—they left nothing at all, you say?" Tracer interrupted.

"Not a thing, ma'am—"

"Marcela!"

"—Lena. Sorry," she apologized. "No, nothing. They took everything, up to and including the protein canisters. That is useless without the mixer, and they did not take it."

"What about the food stores?"

"I haven't checked them yet, but…" After a second of ruffling, Olivera added: "There's nothing here either."

"Awfully considerate of slavers or corsairs," Martinsson snorted.

"More like proper business sense. I'm not in the slave trade but I reckon they wouldn't get as much for someone half-dead of starvation and disease," Aliyev noted sourly. "Except…"

"Except that batarians usually don't give a rat's ass about either," Shepard completed. "I can think of another reason: they have at least one wounded captive somehow valuable to them, someone they took on a previous raid. Otherwise they wouldn't go looking for foodstuffs or drugs on hijacked freighters. Stella, how is that coming along?"

"I have reconstructed the feeds from the worker droids and the cameras aboard the ship," the AI informed. "I'm forwarding them to you now."

The brute was huge — no other word would do for someone over seven feet tall and four feet wide. Its humped reptilian frame dwarfed that of the batarians around him.

Aliyev frowned. "Krogan."

Unconsciously Shepard nodded, sharing her concern. She watched how one of the gray-clad batarians gave a series of curt orders; at once, one of the krogan reached out for an omnic frame and started tearing it apart methodically with its bare hands, piece by piece. She counted half a dozen of the enormous aliens and around twenty corsairs. The krogan set themselves to the task of utterly destroying the mechs with seeming enthusiasm while their smaller companions shoved the human crew out of the freighter and worked to turn it into the giant boobytrap they had found.

As she cycled through the feeds, Tracer's eyes fixated on an image. "I've seen that ship before."

At once Stella produced a schematic. "Light destroyer of Quarian design and manufacture. Reported as lost to piracy by the Flotilla on 2124. Responsible for five pirate raids, and suspected of participation in twelve more incidents." She attached a map of the Skyllian Verge indicating the points where the frigate had been sighted. "The SI division speculates the ship is under the command of Ka'hairal Balak, known batarian External Forces operative."

Lumiscant quickly sifted through all the feeds, views and data they had got on the raiders off the freighter's computers. "Someone did most of the dirty work for us. That ship is barely holding together as it is. It probably won't go far."

Shepard clenched her fists. "That's some good news for a change."

Martinsson thought for a few instants. "Greed got the best of them, XO?"

"Everyone makes mistakes. We too, people." Her brain was working at full speed. The corsairs' lead had paid off, so they could retreat to wherever their hideout was, lick their wounds, and question their prisoners. If the Hegemony was behind it, it was a sure thing they would want to get their hands on a whole research facility if they caught wind of it. They would assume it to be well defended, and they would take their time to hit it in force — and by then the crew of the freighter would be toiling away in some remote batarian penal colony. No, if they wanted to abort the batarian strike they had to give chase. There was a slim chance of saving the crew, but the sad truth was that at best everything would devolve into a hostage situation, and at worst their enemy would escape.

They had no hard evidence about where their prey was going, but she could hazard a guess. Repairing a ship of that size was not something you could do on a hollowed-out asteroid in the middle of nowhere. A shipyard was needed — and those facilities were so large and needed so much support that they were impossible to conceal. There were no such places on the Skyllian Verge, but they did exist on nearby Alliance, Citadel and Hegemony space.

And that was enough. "Skipper?" Shepard asked. "They're running home."

"I agree," Anderson concurred. "Everyone back to the ship. Let's move it, people!"

* * *

"New contact," Stella alerted. At once the hologram projector in the center of the CIC changed to depict a representation of their target. It was a vaguely oval-shaped blob at first, but it quickly changed as the sensors of the  _Thermopylae_ examined it.

"Displacement is on the light destroyer range," an operator reported. "Engine emissions are low."

"Either they were trying to lay low or they're too damaged to go any faster," Shepard mused.

Anderson replied, "We'll find out soon enough. Time to the relay?"

Stella replied, "At current speed, twenty-seven minutes. Enemy vessel will be within jump range in nineteen minutes."

"We'll see how fast they are," Shepard said roughly. "Tracer, punch it!"

"Now you're talking my language, XO."

"Launch our fighter drones," Anderson ordered. "I want that destroyer neutralized and immobilized ASAP."

They watched the mass of dots speed towards the icon of the destroyer in the ladar feed. Still suited up and waiting inside the Kodiak, Martinsson wondered: "How come they're not hailing us or threatening to kill the hostages if we don't back off or something?"

"Probably their ship is that battered," Aliyev guessed.

The uneasy peace that had taken hold after the First Contact War had been overshadowed by a furious arms race between the Alliance and the Citadel. There were motives on both sides for this, but mostly on the latter: the Council had been dismayed at the ruthless efficiency of the Alliance doctrine involving combined use of cyberwarfare and lots of fighter drones, and while the Turians had inflicted grievous damage on the human-omnic combine, it had come at a horrendous cost.

However, for all its efforts, the Council still relied on overwhelming numbers and brute strength to muscle itself into positions of strength when negotiating with the Alliance, having failed to mitigate its technological disadvantage. There were two reasons for this. The first one was that their unrestricted use of AIs gave humans an edge in counterintelligence the Citadel could not defeat. The other was Pokhara itself. Despite tense diplomatic standoffs, the world had remained firmly in the Alliance's grasp, and the amount of matériel, lives and political capital it would entail to conquer it was insurmountably high.

But while both sides had squared off over the bargaining table, humans and omnics had reverse engineered the cyborg wrecks made by whatever it was that lurked there —nobody dared to set foot there after multiple attempts to solve that mystery had ended gruesomely, and the planet was the most heavily monitored place in the whole galaxy—. The net result was that, when it came to toughness, firepower, and cyberwarfare, Alliance vessels were at least two generations ahead of their Citadel counterparts.

That difference was even more evident this time: the  _Thermopylae's_  drones were state of the art, whereas the pirate destroyer was already vintage by galactic standards — and so its point defences were barely a nuisance.

What did come as a surprise was what followed: the forward bulkheads of the destroyer went off in a detonation. "Skipper!"

"I see!"

Then, a smaller ship surged from amidst the cloud of debris: a tiny shuttle that darted away blindingly fast. "Send our fighters after that shuttle!" Shepard ordered on the spot as she ran towards the elevator. "Tracer, on me!"

The Kodiak's engines were already screaming when Aaliyah and Lena raced into the hangar. The latter blinked forward and in a split second was in the pilot seat; the shuttle had already started moving when Shepard jumped into the open passenger bay. Martinsson grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. "Got you, ma'am!"

"Thanks." There was nothing else to say. Everyone knew what was at stake. The shuttle blazed out of the  _Thermopylae's_  hangar and hustled flat out towards the wrecked destroyer.

The point defense guns were silent, no doubt because of the EW suites on the fighter drones; most of them had gone after the shuttle, but half a dozen still loitered around to guard the Kodiak.

The shuttle approached the zero-g hatch. A brief check on her HUD, then Shepard punched the door release mechanism. At once Brulirea and Lumiscant jumped out. This time, Aaliyah had brought spare frames for her omnic fellows — neither liked the idea much, but it would be foolish not to take that precaution.

The omnics landed on the hull with their feet and at once went to work. The first thing they did was to introduce probes to scan the ship. "We got life signs," Brulirea reported at once, then after a few instants: "We're being expected. Right behind this door. Big fellows."

_Krogan mercenaries._  "Get the door open. Martinsson, shield up. The rest of you, stand to."

"Yes, ma'am."

Aliyev's plasma torch cut through the heavy bolts securing the zero-g hatch. The omnics glanced at each other, then dug their articulated hands between the doors and pulled. There was a strain of metal on metal, more felt than heard, then the doors wrenched open a few inches — and the omnics immediately jumped aside, expecting the inevitable shot—

—but nothing happened.

Aaliyah was trying to get a look within the ship. There were six krogan there, fully armed and armored, but they had not opened up at the first sign of a door breach as she had expected.

"Force those doors open."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

It took a single pull. The doors resisted, but gave way — and immediately afterwards Astrid Martinsson was there, squad-shield deployed and hardlight caster ready and charged on her right hand.

And down the short corridor, the krogan looked back at them.

One of them, covered in scars and clad in dull red armor, stepped forward and pointed down the hallway to his right. "The people you're after are in the engineering bay. There's twenty of them, plus forty-three hostages."

Astrid was dumbstruck. They were standing down? Just like that? Krogan mercenaries, the most bloodthirsty and vicious fighters all over the galaxy?

Shepard joined Martinsson, followed by the rest of her squad. She stared at the huge alien. The reptilian eyes glared back dispassionately.

"Why?"

A shrug. It was apparently a universal gesture. "That batarian left us here to rot. What's the point of dying for him? I'm not deluding myself about our chances either. We can fight you, even win. But we can't defeat an Alliance vessel on our own. Besides," he added, with an amused gleam in his eye, "we already got paid. Half our fee, at any rate. Not worth dying for the rest."

It was a brutally honest, objective and accurate assessment. "If you know that, you also know we can't go forward leaving armed people behind us."

"That would be very stupid. Tell you what," the krogan offered. "We get safe passage, and we don't get in your way. Oh, and by the way, you will probably want this. You don't want these fanatics scuttling what's left of the ship on you." The alien tossed something that looked like a computer part on the deck near Shepard's feet. "You want to hurry. It won't be long before they figure something doesn't work."

Her perplexity shifted into suspicion. "What's your angle?"

"Getting out of here alive. Isn't that enough of an angle for you? If it eases your mind, we'll wait outside until you're done. We got enough oxygen to last us for days if we have to. Your fighters can keep an eye on us so we don't change our tune. How's that sound to you?"

Tracer smirked. "You've made it bloody simple for us."

The krogan scowled. "I'm too old to deal in nonsense. I should have known better than getting involved with the Hegemony." A gesture, and his fellow mercs reluctantly put their weapons on the deck. "Mind our guns. They're worth a haul."

Warily, but pleasantly surprised, Aaliyah let the krogan walk out of the ship under the vigilant eyes of her squad. After all, she had avoided what could have been the bloodiest part of the engagement. "I will want to have a chat with you later, mister…"

"Wrex."

They waited for a tense half of a minute while the aliens made their way out and they were handed over for guarding to Stella and the  _Thermopylae's_  drones and point defense guns. Then they turned their attention back to the business at hand, and started making their way down the main corridor of the dilapidated vessel, Martinsson and the omnics on point, Aliyev, Oxton and Shimada and slightly behind them and Shepard and Olivera closing the march. There still was power, which came as a bit of a surprise given the extensive damage to the ship—

—but then, as they immediately found out after forcing a door open, internal defenses such as the heavy duty kinetic barrier they came upon would require it.

Yuri Aliyev stepped forward and put his plasma torch to the barrier, but soon it turned out that it alone would not be enough. He switched places with Shepard, who used her hardlight projector to pierce through it, first, then to create a small gap that the omnics helped enlarge. The first one to go through, of course, was Martinsson, who at once deployed her squad-shield to protect her fellows.

The next such obstacle they found, however, would not prove so easy to overcome, as after they forced the door open they were treated to a full squad of batarian raiders waiting on the other side of the barrier, on cover, weapons aimed.

Alliance and Hegemony troops stared at each other coldly on both sides of the barrier. Behind her stolid face, Shepard grappled with the problem as her engineers got to work. There was no way this stand off ended in anything other than a massacre. If the enemy realized they would not be able to scuttle the ship before they could stop them, they had all the time and the means to stall them while they slaughtered the hostages.

Pretend to try to breach the barrier, but fail, she instructed Lumiscant via the squad network.

She intended to message Tracer next, but the Overwatch legend beat her to it and asked her to retreat out of sight. Then, Oxton whispered, "Hull breach?"

A nod. "Take Brulirea and Genji with you."

"It will have to be done extremely carefully, ma'am," the omnic cautioned.

"I know, I know, lots of stuff that goes boom in the engineering deck," Aaliyah acknowledged, a bit more dryly than she intended.

She returned to the front and watched Lumiscant do her work while Martinsson guarded her and traded hostile looks with the enemy on the other side of the barrier. They were not moving from their combat-ready stances behind cover. That made it official to Shepard: these were not simple raiders, for raiders would be fidgeting, looking for ways out, knowing they were cornered. They were elite batarian operatives, indoctrinated into fanatical hatred of everything the human-omnic Alliance meant. They would not listen to reason.

That did not mean she did not have to try. Hell, she might be wrong.

Alliance regulations framed a very specific way of approaching enemy forces in custody of hostages, but she knew that approach would only further embolden their enemy into further fanaticism. So instead of intoning the introductory litany and stating of terms, she merely put her rifle away, sat cross-legged on the floor —to the questioning look of Astrid— and pretended not to notice the fifteen batarians pointing their guns at the barrier between them for a while.

Then she started talking.

"You think you don't, but you have a choice. You have kidnapped Alliance citizens and destroyed Alliance property. You don't have to ask what we do to Alliance enemies in return.

"You have two scores of hostages. You will kill them if we press further. If that happens we will grind you into mincemeat and send your pieces back to the Hegemony into small boxes aboard the wreck of one of your cruisers. I will take no pleasure in accomplishing this, but I will do it. We will look for the pride and joy of your navy and warp its hull into some caskets for you."

Her subordinates were now looking at her with some dread. She was taking her time to speak now, slowly and tiredly. By the corner of her eye she noticed someone shifted in discomfort in front of her. She took it as a sign of encouragement and kept talking.

"When all of this happens, your compatriots will demand revenge, and you will probably get it. Then my own will demand vengeance in turn. And we will continue to spiral down towards chaos.

"We can avert that here and now. If you release your hostages and lay down your weapons now, no further harm will come to you. You will be released in Omega, or Illium, or in any other Terminus world of your choice. Do not throw away your lives."

Tracer's signal flashed on her HUD:  _We're in position._

One of the troopers in front of her stood up from his crouching position. He took off his helmet, to reveal the typical four-eyed batarian visage, and spat on the floor. "Your arrogance is astounding. All of us here have lost friends and family to you and your robot flunkies. While I draw breath—while we draw breath!— we will fight you to the last drop of blood!" His harangue was met by a challenging roar of hatred by his comrades.

_It's a go,_  Shepard ordered.

The batarian continued his challenge: "What makes you think anything you can say can persuade us?"

After a second's pause, she quietly replied, "I didn't."

There was a low rumble then. The batarian immediately realized what was afoot and shouted a series of orders, then his expression became puzzled momentarily as he did not get the reply he was expecting.

"It's too late." Shepard shook her head. "Our two best agents have already taken care of your sentries and are escorting out the hostages." Another sigh. "If only you had listened."

Then she stood and gestured a single order. At once her subordinates turned around to leave.

The batarian was flabbergasted, then he understood: "Don't you dare turn your back on us!" He tapped a command on his omni-tool, but nothing happened. His men looked at him, stunned:

"It's no use," Shepard said over her shoulder. "Either your leader doesn't care, or he has forgotten that mercenaries have no allegiance, only prospective employers." Casually she dropped the computer part that the krogan had given her. "I don't believe you would ask me, but if you did, I'd say that he believes the information he got is worth sacrificing the rest. Would you agree?"

* * *

"Your name?"

"Xiao Linping," the stocky woman introduced herself curtly. Her face was gaunt and angular, with high cheekbones, her eyes jet-black orbs peering through slits. She still had most of the implements and tools of her trade, up to and including a functional omni-tool, despite having been held for months on end. Being rescued had not changed her dry disposition, but Shepard understood this was part of the coping mechanism that had allowed her to endure captivity. "When they captured me, she was already here," she explained as she walked the XO of the  _Thermopylae_ through the cargo hold of the pirate ship, "but they had no idea about how to treat her. I don't understand why they thought I would know."

Aaliyah found her discourse puzzling, though it made sense the moment she saw who was Xiao talking about: it was a humanoid, feminine in shape and slim in complexion, though the similarities ended there. She had three fingers on each hand instead of five, and her legs resembled the hind quarters of a quadrupedal — her knees were distinctly backwards. She was lying on a makeshift hospital bed assembled out of a derelict cryosleep pod, and most of what she could see of her was dressed in a suit of some kind, except for her face. Her features were mostly human, except for some canals underneath her eyes, a series of orifices and gill-like slits on her face, forehead and outer cheeks, and the total lack of pupils.

It was also immediately evident this alien was very, very sick: the breathing mask affixed to her face might not give that away, but the encrusted secretions around every opening and orifice on her face and the abundant sweat on her forehead did.

"Olivera, get over here right now," she ordered automatically, then she turned to Xiao: "What can you tell us at the moment?"

"Systemic infection," the Chinese replied on the spot. "Very depressed immune system. This poor woman has next to no internal ecosystem to speak of — only the basest form of intestinal flora. Bad as she might look, she was worse off ten days ago. Phage treatment's been taking hold," she explained.

"I'm surprised the batarians would go to such lengths to keep her alive," Shimada noted.

"True," Xiao agreed. "They would not say why. When they raided my freighter they simply asked who was the medic, and they dragged me here. I had to keep her alive if I didn't want to end up like the rest of my crew, they said." She let out a sigh.

Shepard clenched her fists but added nothing. They had arrived — late, but they had arrived. She could not be everywhere.

"Why did they keep her here?" Genji could not bring himself to stop speculating. "Surely they could have hideouts better equipped to care for valuable hostages."

The Chinese shook her head. "I'm sorry. I wish I had answers for you. They would ask me what I needed, but that was that. They weren't forthcoming."

"Mayhaps they had their reasons to move her around," Tracer speculated. "Say, she managed to send a distress signal and her fellows are after her?"

"She's important to them, that's for sure," Martinsson commented. "Well, Quarians made the Geth, didn't they? I know, ma'am, I know," she backed off in anticipation of Shepard's glare, "I don't have a shred of a proof, but other than us, they're the to-go experts when it comes to AGI."

"I've told you a metric fuckton times not to wild-ass guess, Astrid." Martinsson had been right to be wary of her superior's reaction…

_But in this one case I'll let it slide,_  Shepard's tone told her. If the Hegemony was doing AI research—no, it was a  _given_  the Hegemony wanted to get on an equal footing with the Alliance on all aspects, and AI development was one of those. The question was, just how far along had their research come?

Marcela Olivera arrived and, after a very quick check-up, she noted, "You are to be commended for your skill, doctor Linping."

"Oh, no, please, I'm not a doctor. I didn't graduate."

"If you know what to do and when to do it, that's enough in my book, diplomas be damned," she retorted. "If you ever want to complete your studies I—no, we'll be glad to help out. It's not like we have a lot of experience with Quarians and yet you've managed on your own for so long." She gave Shepard a nod, then ordered over the radio: "Stella, we're going to need some droids to transport this Quarian into the med bay."

Apparently Xiao was not prepared to deal with kindness in the same way as she had dealt with the harshness and brutality of her captors, because she had to brush a tear away. "Thanks-thanks a lot. For coming for us."

Shepard was going to reply that it was just her job, but an alert flashed red on her HUD and Anderson spoke on her earbuds: "XO, get everyone back aboard ASAP. We just received an SOS. Elysium is under attack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits and thanks:
> 
> \- BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 for their usual and much appreciated criticism and proofreading.  
> \- I used the Quarian created by laloon on DeviantArt (Tali-Zorah-303921301) as a model for the one depicted here. Apologies if I failed to describe her properly, but I simply don't know half of the words.  
> \- Shepard's comment on the mutable loyalty of mercenaries is another take on maxim #49 of The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries from Schlock Mercenary.


	14. Citadel: Hot Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thermopylae arrives at Elysium to find the colony under siege by an unknown enemy.

Elysium orbit - SSV Thermopylae

Anderson was ashen. "My… God."

The main holographic projector in the combat information center was displaying what was left of the planetary defense grid. Elysium was a veritable paradise, but settlement had been slow — its proximity to both Citadel and Hegemony space had scared off many a potential colonist. Facilities had been built for berthing and servicing the large garrison fleet once expected to be stationed there, but the place was so obvious a target that the Batarians and other pirates had simply skipped it; thus, as time had went by, ships tasked to Elysium had had to be allocated elsewhere until none remained, replaced instead by a veritable bulwark of orbital defense stations.

And apparently they had dodged the bullet one too many times.

"What kind of thing can punch holes like those?" Shepard was equally pale. "Those stations have  _meters_  of armor! Not to mention the shields…"

"Something just did, regardless," the CO said gravely. "Stella, any success?"

"Negative," the AI reported. "Usual channels are nonresponsive. I'm trying alternative communication methods."

"Keep at it. How long before we are within gate range?"

"Nine minutes, seven seconds."

"Shepard, put together a recon team and get ready. If we can't establish communications with neither Illyria nor the Watchpoint we'll have to go in ourselves."

"Got it, skipper. Tracer?"

"Aye, luv. Stella, you have the wheel."

"I have the wheel," the AI echoed.

"Get our fighters out there. I want to know where the enemy is."

The standard fighter complement for a destroyer like the  _Thermopylae_  consisted of sixty strike craft that could easily be reconfigured for space superiority or close air support duties just by swapping out a few modules. Right now, the priority was to know what was out there, so they quickly spread out.

As they combed the surrounding space while their mothership unsuccessfully tried to establish contact with the surface, icons started to pop up on the ladar feed. "All the comm buoys accounted for, sir. All destroyed."

"Someone took their time to isolate this place well and good," Shepard mumbled.

"And succeeded," Anderson agreed darkly.

Stella informed, "Colonel, we're in position over Illyria. I'm not one to hazard guesses, but I reckon our assistance is needed on the surface."

The holographic projector changed into a feed from the main settlement, and both Anderson and Shepard instantly recognized the outlines of those figures long before the image sharpened enough for them to tell apart details. They were strikingly familiar ones, figures that brought them back both twenty years.

In machinegun succession Shepard ordered, "Stella, retask two thirds of our fighters to close air support. Get the hardsuits and Bulwarks ready for deployment. I want everyone from teams 1 through 4 on the ready room at once."

"Understood."

She turned to Anderson then: "I can handle the planetside part of this situation, but we don't know where they're coming from."

The commanding officer of the  _Thermopylae_  nodded in agreement. "I'll keep that other end covered and reach out to Arcturus if they don't know already. You get down there." He left the rest unsaid:  _And be careful._

 _Always, skipper._  "Yes sir."

Aaliyah and Lena left the bridge together. Alarms rang in the corridors, yellow lights spinning everywhere, both humans and omnics running down the passageways. Still that was not enough to block Tracer's voice:

"Why would the Turians mount such a brazen and open attack on a backwater colony such as this?"

Shepard shook her head. "They surely have a motive. We'll know soon."

* * *

To their concern —but not to their surprise— they discovered that gating down to the Watchpoint installation was not an option, so Aaliyah mustered her men on the hangar and laid out what little information they had of the situation planetside — Illyria and their base there were being besieged by Turian forces, and that was all they knew.

There was only some mild shock, as evinced by Westmoreland's: "Holy shit, ma'am."

"Okay, now that you got that out of your system, let's get down to business, people," Shepard said forcefully. "There's a colony under attack down there. You don't need me to tell you what to do."

"Don't worry, ma'am," Lumiscant answered, rough as usual. "We'll remind those bluebloods why they didn't want to mess around after Pokhara."

"Good. I expected no less."

The twenty men and women were to Shepard something akin to family. As Overwatch and the N7 program had fused into Starwatch, Aaliyah had used all of her newfound connections and prestige to get each of her old troopers a chance at earning a commission in the new agency. Not all of them had made the cut —Zarya, as Morrison's successor, had proven to be as every bit as uncompromising and demanding a boss as the old soldier had been—, but some had, and they had followed her commander around as she had climbed the ranks. They had grown under the tutelage of the Overwatch elite — and as they had gotten to know those legends, they had also grown protective of them.

The first few times Aaliyah had led men on missions, she had feared that some of them would not return. Occasionally it happened. Such had been the fiasco on the Moon when they had stumbled upon Reaper. But her old CO aboard the London had once told her that a typical motto of many rescue services on Earth —and Starwatch had many purposes and roles, but its essential mission boiled down to protecting humans and omnics, wherever they were— was something along those lines:  _You have to go out. You don't have to come back._

Those words had become second nature, and faded into her memory as she evolved from a recruit wet behind the ears to a seasoned marine, and thence to a semi-legendary commander only shadowed by those now seated around her: Genji Shimada, Anika Ziegler, Layali Amari.

But now, as the dropships hurtled towards the besieged colony, zealously escorted by Stella's fighters, those were the words that had jumped to mind, intermixed with the remembrance of the fighting in the bowels of the godforsaken rock where she had witnessed first-hand the surgical efficiency of the Turian fireteams.

 _Be mindful of your thoughts, Aaliyah,_  she cautioned herself.  _A wandering mind often finds itself in dark places._ She felt tempted to ask if there were news about what was going on on Illyria, but that was her anxiety speaking.

She caught sight of Martinsson's blue eyes. Both women exchanged glances and read each other's emotions: the shieldbearer nodded her agreement almost imperceptibly.

"Colonel, we have an incoming transmission from Watchpoint: Elysium," Stella warned.

"Put it on the speaker," Shepard ordered.

An imperious voice rang on everyone's earbuds: "Incoming Alliance forces, this is major general Aleksandra Zaryanova on Watchpoint: Elysium. Our base is under heavy attack from Turian invaders. Disregard the assault on Illyria and proceed to relieve us immediately. Acknowledge at once."

Olivera, Martinsson, Aliyev and the rest of Shepard's team exchanged looks.

"Zarya, this is colonel Shepard. We copy your order to proceed to the Watchpoint. We're on our way. ETA… 11 minutes."

"Understood. Be advised, enemy aircraft is active nearby. Estimate squadron strength. Stay sharp. Out."

"Thanks for the heads-up. Out."

The same concern was on everyone's minds:  _a civilian colony is under attack, and yet we are ordered to go and assist a fellow Starwatch force? By Zarya herself, no less?_

 _She must have a damned good reason to give that order,_  Shepard's eyes replied. Whether that damned good reason was the thing the Turians were after, they would know soon enough as well.

"Vulture flight, we're picking up multiple unknown contacts inbound on your position," Stella alerted her, confirming Zarya's warning.

"Unknown?"

"Their profile does not match any known craft."

The… object… depicted by the bulkhead screen was, effectively, radically different from anything they knew. It was a near-spherical flier, three apertures on its hull around a blood-red iris-like crystal, a pair of rectangular wings protruding from a rudimentary-looking armature enveloping the main body.

Kimo Lemetti, the Finn sniper that had fought next to her on the cargo bays of the  _London_ over the skies of Pokhara, summarized everyone's reaction: "What have the Turians been up to?"

"I hope we don't get to learn in detail in the next few minutes," Shepard replied roughly.

"Brace for evasive maneuvers," Stella warned in her eerily calm voice.

On the flight deck, Tracer relinquished control of the Montauk to the AI, and strapped herself securely to the pilot seat before donning a face-obscuring helmet — and interfacing with one of the drone fighters.

Strangely enough, beneath the layers of fabric of her suit, she felt goosebumps racing all over her skin. She had almost forgotten the sensation.

It was a warning signal, but she smiled thinly.

"Alright, blokes. Let's play."

Outside the hull, a third of the escorting drone fighters clustered protectively around the two dropships, while the rest surged forward to meet the incoming enemy. Tracer steered her commandeered fighter port, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the initial barrage, then after interrogating the incoming enemy for range, she selected a piece of light air-to-air ordnance —no point on using up the heaviest weapons right away— and fired away. In this case, it was a hybrid munition, something halfway between a guided missile and a railgun slug; she did not expect it to inflict heavy damage on the enemy, it was more of a test of their barriers than anything else.

The attack was a solid hit, and the slug turned into incandescent vapor, but it came as no surprise when the enemy emerged through no worse for the wear. Lena noted this and the slugthrower went tight; Stella also noted this and the drones under her control did not repeat the exercise—

Then the attackers opened up, and the sky turned crimson with lancing beams. Three of the five drones comprising the vanguard received direct hits and exploded. The other two dodged and weaved around, then, as they came within range in turn, fired their guns, scoring solid kills. The fighting devolved almost immediately into a swirling melee, but there were more of the spherical attackers than Stella had drones to counter them—

—and this enemy was completely impervious to one of the mainstay weapons of the Alliance:

"Command, enemy craft is immune to jamming and electronic warfare."

" _Jolly good, Stella!_ " Tracer snarled on the flight deck, straining to maneuver behind the tail of one of the enemy craft while keeping track of the friendlies and enemies all around her and the craft she had to protect. Long gone were the days of using HOTAS controls; the current approach was to use sensor arrays embedded on the helmet to map signals from the brain itself to the controls and weapons, granting a degree of responsiveness the fighter pilots of yore had dreamed of.

And it was no secret that Tracer was the best fighter pilot there was. The enemy aircraft were faster, tougher and better armed than her drone, but the same could not be said about the quality of those flying them — and that was before taking into account her ability to slow down time. For a split-second, the enemy craft filled her gunsights—

—and Tracer could make a split-second last into an eternity. Which was not necessary this time around. A brief burst of cannon fire and the enemy flier was blotted from the sky.

But there was only one Tracer.

As the third spheroidal fighter plummeted towards the ground leaving a thick trail of smoke in its wake, the remainder started to shift their targets to gang up on this troublesome drone — though not to the point of letting the other craft prey on them. Still, that took some pressure off Stella and some omnics that had also commandeered fighters to assist—

—but eventually Lena realized the enemy simply was not going to let go, so after blowing a fifth enemy to bits she took a sharp turn away from the furball, hoping to draw some of the attackers away from the dropships—

—and it was a mistake. As one, her pursuers disengaged and turned around to once again join the melee. "Shite! Get me another fighter!"

"Transferring you. Please stand by." And then again she felt goosebumps, but for a different reason: "Alert. Enemy reinforcements inbound."

"Bloody hell, where are they coming from?! Shepard, we can delay them, but there's no way we can defeat another wave!"

On the passenger deck, Aaliyah brought up a feed from the  _Thermopylae_  on her omni-tool, assessed her options, and without hesitation keyed her mic: "Zarya, this is Shepard, do you copy? We are under heavy attack by enemy aircraft, we cannot, repeat, cannot reach your position. Heading for alternate one. Is there any chance for you to bring a gate online, over!"

"Copy your negative," came the Russian's heavily accented voice. "We are currently running on auxiliary power so we cannot comply with your request, though some of our engineers here are working on that. In the meantime I advise you proceed to the local barracks and try to secure the tram station. You should be able to make your way here without hassle then."

"Roger that," she agreed, more calmly than she felt. The Montauk was heavily shielded and armored, but she could hear Tracer cursing profusely on the flight deck as she wrestled with the enemy fighters and she harbored no illusions about what would happen if the enemy reinforcements caught up with them.

"Maintain radio contact, and make haste. We are counting on you. Zarya out."

"Well, isn't that a vote of confidence," Aaliyah commented. She scanned the feed: apparently the assault on Illyria was little more than a diversionary strike, for the anti-aircraft batteries —pristine, deployed and alert— would have been reduced to cinders otherwise, and the colonial defense force was apparently well entrenched on the barracks, despite the raiders' attempts to dislodge or encircle them. "Stella, proceed to the barracks on Illyria!"

"Yes, Shepard."

Impatiently she turned to the map again. She felt the impulse to order her quartet of airborne troopers to stand by for immediate deployment the moment they were within the envelope of the friendly AA, but that would only get them killed by the fighters Stella, Tracer and her omnic crew were struggling to hold at bay.

And for now the air battle was stalemated, despite the numerical and qualitative superiority of the enemy, but the second wave of spherical attackers inched ever closer and Shepard could not bring herself to stop looking at the feed from the  _Thermopylae_  — then she realized what she was doing and, with a vile oath, she put her omni-tool down. It was out of her hands. Everything she could do now was to trust Stella, Tracer and her omnic fellows.  _When we make it out of here I'll buy them a… damn, what do you buy an omnic? Mineral oil?_

And then an urgent call turned her blood to ice: "Vulture 2 is hit! Vulture 2 is hit!"

"Move us in front of them to shield them!" Shepard ordered on the spot, then she demanded, "Vulture 2, damage report!"

"We got a hull breach and a coolant leak!" the pilot replied in a rush. "Whatever they got, it punched straight through our shields—our engineers are getting the leak under control, but another hit like that and we're toast!"

"Roger that," she growled. "Casualties?"

"We're all good, thank God for that."

"Stella, how long before we are within AA range?"

"Two minutes, thirteen seconds."

 _These are going to be the two longest fucking minutes of my life,_ she groaned, and suppressed a shiver as her mind completed the thought:  _Supposing I get to live that long._  Only a scant half a dozen fighters were all that stood between them and annihilation, and the enemy outnumbered them two to one — without counting the second wave of attackers, now barely six minutes away. The  _Thermopylae_ could not descend into the atmosphere to provide assistance. Tracer was doing a stellar job, but she was walking a very tight and slippery rope — just one misstep…

Then the idea flashed in her mind like a lightning bolt: "Everyone clear out the boarding ramp! Release the clamps holding the Bulwarks into place!" Then she turned to Brulirea and Lumiscant: "You think you can create a basket for them?"

The omnics stared at her, without understanding: "You want to toss them into the air?"

"Look at those guns!" Shepard yelled in exasperation. "They got more firepower than the rest of us combined! We need them pointed at those fuckers out there!"

Lumiscant nodded. "It won't hold for long, ma'am."

"I know. I'm sorry for them, but we can get them other frames. We don't have that luxury."

"No you don't," Brulirea accepted.

With dread driving her to work faster, Shepard followed the omnics' directions to help them fashion cages tethered to hardlight generators around the bulky forms of the Bulwark frames. "Ready! Clear the ramp!"

One of the Bulwarks turned its head to face her and beeped. It was a familiar sound.

It was strange that the omnic did not use a vocal processor to speak as usual, but Shepard was too stressed and worked up to think about that in detail. Still she felt guilty. "Sorry," she whispered. "I wish there was another way."

Then her heart skipped two beats when a voice rang on her earbuds, one she had last heard two decades back at Numbani:

"Don't worry. I'll get you down there."

Before she could say anything, the four Bulwarks slid out of the Montauk.

Shepard turned her head around. Anika Ziegler was standing, alone, at the edge of the ramp. They stared at each other.

Then Mercy's daughter turned away.

* * *

A cheer rose from the colonial troopers when the Montauks slowed down, made their final approach and softly released their Bulwarks and hardsuits, to complete their landing a scant fifteen seconds later under the protective umbrella of the anti-aircraft batteries. By then, the war machines were already moving, each of the four hardsuits paired with one of the huge siege omnics to screen it from enemy fire.

The Starwatch soldiers raced out of the dropships, splitting into fire teams to secure the landing zone and assist their heavy units — except for Shepard and Lena. The latter was leaning on the former as they walked painstakingly towards the fortified barracks compound.

"I'm colonel Aaliyah Shepard! Where's your commanding officer?"

"Here, ma'am!" A man rushed towards her. At once her onboard AI scanned the man's armor and printed on her HUD: lieutenant Léon Kerkerian. She could not see his face behind his helmet, but it was evident that he had recognized Tracer because he stood there in stunned surprise for a moment, but he quickly recovered: "Medic!" he yelled, then moved to assist Lena.

"I'm… I'm okay, thank you," she protested.

"No, Lena, you're not. See that she gets a little rest. We all owe her our lives."

The corpsman quickly took charge of the situation. "Absolutely, ma'am. We owe her our lives, too." The news spread like wildfire around the barracks. Shepard heard the voices:  _Tracer is here_. But those close to her noticed that the Overwatch legend was overwhelmed with exhaustion. By unspoken agreement, the men, women and omnics there kept their distance, knowing that the best way to show their gratitude would be to let her rest.

"Now bring me up to speed. What the hell happened here?"

Kerkerian gestured skywards. "Well, ma'am, I take it that you already know what happened to the orbital defenses. Our comm buoys started blanking out on us at first. Then we lost the stations. We had already dug in for an attack, but…" The man shook his head. " _Ne sais pas._  I didn't think we would resist this long. I suppose we're still alive because the Watchpoint has taken the brunt of the assault." A sigh. "Still, they haven't made it any easier. Our defenses have held, but they've been probing us all the time for weaknesses ever since this started."

"Have you been in contact with Zaryanova?"

A nod. "We were, until last night, when we had to evacuate the tram station. Our land lines run through the tram tunnel. I wouldn't bet on the Turians not finding them. Even so we tried to report only as necessary. She's got her hands full, she does."

"I know. I have orders to relieve her ASAP. She's instructed us to retake the station and fight our way through." She took a deep breath. "You still got sensor feeds?"

"Some. They've been working really hard to keep us in the dark. If omnics weren't on our side…" Something in Kerkerian's voice told Shepard that this man, like many others, had not trusted synthetics until he had been forced to put his life on their hands.

She decided that it was none of her business. Not now, in any case. "Show me."

Like most military bases, the barracks was set on elevated ground, surrounded by an open field without any kind of structure or foliage that could serve as cover — for all purposes, a kill zone. The Turians had deployed some form of hardsuits of their own, given the half-dozen charred hulks that dotted the terrain around the base, but that was all they had to punch through, and it was clearly not enough.

But the good news ended right there and then. To get to the tram station, they had to cross that same no man's land, and then they had to fight their way through an urban area of tall buildings with balconies and hanging catwalks a smart commander could turn into a nightmare with careful placement of only a few snipers and some fireteams. The Turians had both, and theirs were a class act. She had seen them first hand.

Her first plan would have been to get a sense of what the enemy was up to before deploying hardsuits and airborne troopers. But not only she did not have any air support to speak of, barring a request for an orbital strike —something she would only do in the most desperate of situations, for an old joke with a grain of wisdom to it stated that if you were not willing to shell your own position you were not willing to win—: the enemy owned the skies and had very nearly shot them down, and while they were focused on the Watchpoint at the moment, she did not doubt that if she raised enough of a hell they would come back to ruin her day.

But that was her mission: raise enough of a hell to take some pressure off Zarya.

She clenched her jaw and fists. "Amari, Park and Ziegler, meet me on the barracks ASAP."

Fittingly, Layali Amari was slim, olive-skinned, oval-faced, black-eyed, and had a  _wedjat_  tattoo under an eye, but those looks were all she had in common with Ana and Pharah: as combat injuries had piled up, she had been forced to completely replace her organic body for a prosthetic one. Unlike her progenitor and grandmother, she was neither affable nor warm. Unlike her friend and colleague Anika Ziegler, Layali had been unfortunate enough to be a youngster when her mother had died. The pain had caused her to withdraw into herself and become maniacally focused into her training as a way to handle her grief; initially distinguishing herself because of her natural talent, she had gone on to recreate the jumpjet infantry specialty: she could snipe like the best of them —and she actually seemed to enjoy it, as much as it could be said that she enjoyed anything—, but she had really made a name for herself as a line breaker. In close quarters, Layali was a nightmare.

Park Jung Hoon was one of the most recent products of Starwatch. He had no lineage to back his name, no sponsors had helped him along. He had earned his way into a frontline hardsuit out of brute competence. But the now-retired Hana Song had admired his skills, and that commendation had been the starting point for an uninterrupted string of successes on the field. He was completely bald, with piercing emerald green eyes studying everything through the slits he had for eyelids.

The slim youth and the cold airborne trooper were accustomed to working together, and Shepard had grown used to relying on them when the situation called for serious measures. Such was the situation now as she laid it out before them:

"I don't like it one bit," she manifested, "but Zarya has much bigger problems than we do. I don't have to tell you what we have to do about it."

"So you want us to cover you from above." Layali's comment was flat.

"And you fear that will call their air support down on us." Park completed Amari's idea.

"The whole colony is well within range of the anti-aircraft batteries here, but I don't like to rely on them. We haven't put them to the test against the enemy fliers. And besides, a single orbital strike is everything it would take to blow them to bits."

" _Excusez-moi,_ " Kerkerian raised a hand, feeling way out of his depth, but also convinced he had a legitimate point, "but if the enemy could do that, why haven't they done that already?"

"I don't know," Shepard answered uneasily. "I'm dead certain the attack on the colony was only a diversion. I mean, most of their strength is focused on the Watchpoint."

"Which begs a question," Tracer pointed out as she walked in: "Why? What are they after?"

Shepard rolled her eyes but said nothing. Lena could be insufferably stubborn, but considering how melancholic she had been in recent times, in this one case it was actually a good thing.

"I can't answer that," Kerkerian admitted. "There had been some unusual traffic coming and going out of the Watchpoint recently, but what was it about, I don't know."

After a brief silence, Layali stated dryly: "You don't need our advice, ma'am. You've already made up your mind."

Shepard and Ziegler exchanged a glance, then she looked at Tracer. The colonial lieutenant noticed the looks and got a glimpse of the weight on the colonel's mind:

"Ma'am, you've already saved our lives by coming," the man said quietly. "If we are needed, we will go. Besides, this is  _my_  home, Turians be damned."

Aaliyah bowed her head, closed her eyes, and committed herself. "We depart in ten minutes. Leave behind just enough men to secure the installation. Everyone else is coming with us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits and thanks:
> 
> \- As it has been the usual for a while now, BrokenLifeCycle contributed priceless ideas and played the Devil's advocate when necessary.  
> \- Aaliyah's self-admonition to keep her thoughts on a leash was lifted from Imperium Thought for the Day. I don't know if it's 40k canon.  
> \- Maxim #20 of The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries from Schlock Mercenary was quoted here.


	15. Citadel: A Soldier's Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pitched battle is fought on the streets of Elysium to relieve Zarya's forces at the local Watchpoint.

Elysium surface - Illyria City

"It's a go," Shepard declared, faintly nauseated, then more firmly: "Park, push forward!"

"You got it, ma'am. Goliath 2, on me. Goliaths 3 and 4, right flank."

In addition to their complement of four hardsuits, Park now had under his command half a dozen others belonging to Kerkerian's force. These were not as capable, being less mobile and lacking the jet boosters allowing for quick repositioning, but they still were heavily armed and armored, which meant protecting their Bulwark artillery group was their job — while he and team Goliath were free to support the assault.

The other side was, as Aaliyah had learned to expect, playing it smart. Pushed back across the kill zone by the storm of gunfire unleashed by the Bulwarks and Park's team, they had retreated within the urban area they had to traverse to reach the tram station. Now there were none of the enemy to be seen.

"Kerkerian and Martinsson, you're up next," she ordered her infantry elements. "Léon, keep your troopers behind the shields."

"Roger."

Both the colonial troopers and the Starwatch platoon followed after Park's Goliath team. Following advice from the locals, Shepard had already plotted their route. The Bulwarks and the hardsuits guarding them would advance along a boulevard flanked by tall buildings, with their objective on the other end of a half a kilometer run, so that they could provide long-range fire support. Kerkerian's and Martinsson's platoons would advance through side streets parallel to the boulevard to forestall any attempts at ambushing or flanking them. Amari's jumpjet infantry would be in reserve to deal with unexpected threats, whereas Genji and Tracer were to do what they did best — scouting ahead and preying on targets of opportunity.

_What will they do?_  Aaliyah was trying to think like the enemy commander. Judging from what she had seen back at the barracks, they had anything between two scores to a hundred troopers deployed. They had more of those walker mechs, at least two. Their trump card, of course, was their air support. She had chosen the ways into the urban area to minimize exposure, hoping that to make their targets difficult to approach would expose the fliers further to anti aircraft fire.

"XO, we've picked up something coming straight at us," Anderson spoke suddenly on her earbuds. "We must abandon station to engage. You're on your own for a while."

"Copy that, skipper. Give 'em hell."

"You too. Stay safe."

A nod, a deep breath, then she walked towards Anika Ziegler. "I need to have a word with your mom."

Anika was automatically uncomfortable, but acquiesced. "Of course, ma'am, why would you ask me for permission?"

Shepard shrugged. "Privacy, I suppose." After a moment of interfacing, her omni-tool projected the face of the original Mercy as she had seen it back on the Moon:

"Hello, colonel. I'm glad to see you made it safely."

"Thanks to you, in part," Aaliyah noted. "We need you again now."

"I'm listening."

"I need you to fill in for Stella."

The AI stared at her quizzically, then frowned. "I'm not sure I'll be good at it. I'm a facsimile of a person who was trained to protect, not to kill." Then a nod. "I'll try."

Despite the tension of the moment, Shepard's thought processes paused momentarily as the strangeness of the situation took her. "We all have to put up with things we don't like, Angela. You just helped to save us all. Do it again."

Aaliyah knew it was an AI, not the original Angela Ziegler. The AI knew it too. That did not stop the smile on the rendered face from being almost dazzling.

"Don't worry, colonel. I'll get you back home."

"We're very much counting on it."

At once Mercy brought up a real-time representation of the battlefield. Goliath elements had taken positions in cover on both sides of the boulevard. Kerkerian's platoon was following Park at close range, taking pains not to show themselves. Martinsson, as her deputy, was leading the Starwatch force, keeping only a few steps behind the other Goliath pair.

Now engineers on both platoons were deploying scout drones. That was Genji's and Tracer's call to proceed; the former simply vanished where he stood, while the other darted away at her customary breakneck pace.

"Stay sharp, you two," Shepard admonished them. "I don't like this." The enemy was being surprisingly passive. No traps, no harassing, no sniping. Of course, that only meant the shit would hit the fan that much harder.

" _Ryōkai_ _._ "

"Aye, luv."

Seconds trickled by almost reluctantly. With the spheroidal scout drones slowly clearing the streets, the troopers followed a few steps behind, leapfrogging between covers, with motions seemingly drawn from an evil dance. The city was deathly silent and still, which was in a way a blessing — the mere idea of having to fight on streets crowded by panicked civilians made Shepard's skin crawl. If there was one point all colonies had gotten inflexible on after Pokhara, that was the evacuation protocols: huge shelters were built underneath every major building, ready to seal themselves off from the surface for weeks if need be.

An alert appeared on her HUD: Park and Kerkerian had reached the first of three predefined checkpoints set for both platoons. Martinsson was almost there as well.

Then Genji whispered, "I have spotted the enemy."

At once Shepard switched her view to the feed from the cyborg ninja's eyes. It was a part of the boulevard the Bulwarks would have to traverse. The raiders were leaving, with motions not too dissimilar from those of her own team, a store they had apparently planned to use as a strong point. She counted eight of them. Three of them remained vigilant, watching out for enemies, while the rest evacuated the position—

—and at once one of the sentries fixated his sight on Genji's position. Now the latest advancements on thermoptic camouflage would be put to the test: the Turians' superior visual acuity made them very hard to deceive with such devices, and a lot of work had been done since the First Contact War to address that problem.

And, apparently, all that research had paid off, for the sentry soon looked another way.

_They're retreating?_

Somewhere a high-powered rifle boomed. Immediately afterward Tracer warned, still far ahead of the vanguard: "Sniper on the catwalks! Don't get caught!"

Behind Shepard's group, Amari noted Lena's position. "Try to keep it busy."

"Oh, sure thing. I just love getting shot at," Tracer replied wryly. Dodging railgun rounds was no small feat: she had to max out her chronal accelerator and almost completely stop time to see them. But then, it became a horribly unequal game of tag: Lena could run circles around her assailant —both figuratively and literally—, though getting close enough to actually shoot back was another matter.

Layali switched her ferrofluid cannon for the venerable rocket launcher, fed it the sniper's location, pointed it skywards, and fired a single shot. The missile climbed upwards, then eventually stopped its ascent, arced down, and only then did the sophisticated piece of ordnance look up where it had to go. Then its booster engine lit up again, and the warhead became nothing but a simple, inert rod of metal.

Which exploded with a resounding boom on impact.

Ineffectively, as it would turn out: "It's a miss! Sniper is moving and relocating!" Tracer alerted.

"More enemy forces on the move," Genji warned. "They seem to be retreating towards our target."

In her gut, Shepard felt that a choice had to be made then and there, and she hoped it was the right one: "Press forward! Park, start the attack on the station! Bulwark team, get in position!"

"Yes, ma'am. Goliaths, two-pronged assault! Layali, watch our backs!"

"We're on the move," Amari reported tersely.

Tracer and the Turian sniper traded shots as Lena pounced from place to place, trying to get closer, while at the same time looking every which way for another sniper standing by to support her foe — and that caution stood her in good stead when she did spot the shooter, way too early for the Turian to react. This one, however, was perched on a low balcony, where she could reach him. There was time neither for subtleties nor mercy: a blink, two point-blank bursts, and the shooter was ground to mincemeat. "Scratch one sniper, another still on the loose!"

"Approaching primary target," Genji reported. "Enemy heavy armor unit in sight!"

What the ninja had dubbed 'heavy armor' was a walker, not too different from D-Va's armor in concept — though where the hardsuit was an exquisite balance of agility, toughness and firepower, this one was ponderously slow. No doubt it could absorb a lot of fire, and the huge cannons it had for arms proclaimed it could return it in kind. Of notice, though, was the huge transparent canopy-like cockpit — it was a  _glaringly obvious_  weak point, and that initial observation invited another check: the Turians did not make obvious mistakes, so probably the cockpit was not as vulnerable as it appeared at first glance.

"Take it out," Shepard ordered automatically.

" _Ryōkai_ _._ "

A red warning signal lit up on Aaliyah's HUD, then Mercy spoke urgently: "Shepard! It's the  _Thermopylae!"_

"What?"

The AI wasted little time with explanations and simply replayed the distress call she had picked up—in Stella's voice: "Colonel Shepard! I'm launching all the escape pods towards the colony! We've taken catastrophic damage and the ship won't hold together!"

Her blood turned to ice, and her perception of time slowed noticeably, to the point of stretching out Kerkerian's loud warning against ambushers—

A terrible metallic screech seared through everyone's ears.

Aaliyah stumbled, momentarily staggered, then a shadow blotted the sun.

For a dreadful, eternal second, the sounds of the battle and the reports of her subordinates became even more distant. Her eyes were fixated on the huge silhouette that was slowing down its descent into the atmosphere, an obscenely large mass of black and purple with articulated  _tendrils_  stretching out around a huge maw—

—and then a red spark blossomed in that maw. Instantly the memories of Pokhara rushed back into her mind—

—but she could not even scream a warning now. A blinding line of red light erupted from the maw—

—to cut a swathe through the buildings on the Watchpoint.

It was a scene to instill terror into many a heart, but far from it, she only found her resolve restored: "MOVE! ZARYA NEEDS US! MOVE! MOVE!"

Goaded by the knowledge that their leader was in danger, the Starwatch soldiers pressed on. There was a whistling sound, and a shape of steel and blue was briefly seen before something landed with a thunderous slam right in the midst of the squad attacking Kerkerian's platoon. It was Layali Amari, and she was proving why she was worthy of her blood. She had swapped her long-range weapons for submachine guns, and with ruthless precision she gunned down the stunned Turians that still had yet to come to their senses—

—but that did not take long, and out of the initial ten, the four survivors drew their PDWs and melee weapons—

—to no avail. Not only her suit was a walking arsenal, it was outfitted with multiple omni-tools, which with only a mental command would fashion short-lived blades that were everywhere at once — and the thrusters could be creatively used to lend crushing strength to her blows—

—or, in the case of the last standing Turian, to emulate Reinhardt himself to trip the enemy and have it smashed against a wall.

Kerkerian and his men had one brief instant to feel both stunned and horrified at the grisly spectacle of Layali covered in blue blood—

—before there was another terrible screeching sound, another lancing light, and a low rumble as the huge bulk of the strange starship touched down right on top of the main tower of the Watchpoint complex.

That only drove Shepard's men to fight on even more relentlessly. Layali jumped into the skies again to rejoin her squad, and using the buildings for concealment they switched to their long-range weapons to pick off targets of opportunity. Genji had taken advantage of his thermoptic camouflage to plant a pulse bomb on the enemy mech, causing it to explode spectacularly, and had again retreated out of sight before other Turians had come forth to investigate. Tracer had found a way to the rooftops and was hunting after enemy lone snipers.

But the enemy was recovering from the onslaught quickly, and they had dug in around the entrance to the tram station — so when both Martinsson's and Kerkerian's platoons finally broke cover out of the street and into the square next to the station, they were received with a barrage of firepower that no barrier could resist for long. Park's team tried to shield the infantry as they backed away, but at a severe cost to themselves — out of the four assault hardsuits, only two managed to retreat to cover. The other two pilots tried to send their self-destructing mechs right into the heart of the enemy defense after ejecting, but clearly the defenders had anticipated this maneuver and redeployed to alternate and equally well dug in positions, rendering the attack ineffective.

" _Scheisse!"_  Schreieder, the shieldbearer charged with protecting Kerkerian's troop, swore out loudly, then reported: "Shepard, we cannot break through that line by ourselves."

"Roger. Bulwark group, you're up!"

Bulwarks were none other than Bastion mechs, upgraded and updated by the team of engineers that had succeeded Torbjörn. Bastions had a grim reputation, being responsible for much death and destruction during both Omnic Crisis. Bulwarks, on the other hand, were next to unheard of on Earth, for Starwatch deployed them only in colonies. They were, however, no less dangerous than their ancestors, veritable Swiss Army knives — as recon mechs, they could fight next to hardsuits; as sentry units, a single one could unleash a storm of gunfire to grind entire companies into meat on instants.

And as self-propelled guns, they were siege breakers. They could alternatively shoot explosive ordnance, or fire a ferrofluid cannon powerful enough to inflict serious damage on a small starship — and that was exactly how Shepard had used them against the fighters that had very nearly killed them all.

And she did not expect they would have anything that could stand up to four Bulwarks. In this she was right. The first explosion sent several raiders flying in pieces amidst a cloud of debris and blue ichors. The next two hits were equally deadly. Thrown into disarray, the enemy tried to withdraw deeper within the station, but their assailants were alert to this and raked their ranks with small arms fire.

"Keep pushing!" Shepard encouraged between bursts. "We almost got them—!"

Mercy interrupted urgently: "Shepard, we have fliers inbound!"

"THEN GET MOVING!" She roared. "They can't hit us inside the station!"

It would not prove easy. She caught glimpses of huge shapes moving amidst the dust, and three walkers ponderously broke cover. They locked in on the shieldbearers and opened up at once. Both Martinsson and Schreieder reacted fast, deploying bubble shields, but against that kind of firepower, those defenses could have been as well made out of paper. Shepard caught a glance of the German trying to keep his barrier up before multiple rounds burst through it. The raiders seized the opportunity and rained a storm of blue tracers on Kerkerian's platoon.

Solid beams of yellow light pierced through the walkers as the Bulwarks switched to their anti-armor weapons, but the distant thunder of large guns filled the air, and Aaliyah realized that the enemy fliers were within range of the anti-aircraft batteries and these were engaging them. Time had ran out.

But all that stood between them and their goal was a thin line of Turian troopers, and Shepard was damned if they were going to stop her from getting her men to safety. Activating her own squad-shield, she readied her hardlight projector and raced forward. Alarms rang in her ears as the shield was quickly degraded by the raiders, but all she needed was to get within melee range. As one, the Starwatch platoon and the surviving colonial troopers charged after her, and the killing became swift and cruel.

Aaliyah did not bother to check all the enemies were dead: she gestured at Martinsson, who at once redeployed her squad to secure the entrance to the station. Then she glanced at Anika, Amari, Genji and Tracer, who needed no directions to race within the station. Only when they reached the docking platform and found it empty did she allow herself a brief respite: "Installation is secure!"

"Understood, colonel," Mercy noted. "We're good, but we cannot reach your position. Enemy fliers are raining fire all around us. You're on your own."

"Copy that," she acknowledged huskily. A part of her wanted to know how many of her crew and Kerkerian's force had survived, but the rest of her wanted to deal with that concern later, especially since Zarya still needed their help.

"We're in the control center," Brulirea informed. "There is a tram coming here from the Watchpoint."

"Raise them."

"Yes, ma'am."

Instants later, her omni-tool was filled with Mila Palukhina's anguished face: " _Shepard'yeva_? Is that you?"

" _Da, tovarich,_  it's me. The station is secure. What's your status?"

"Damn Turians are all over us! The Watchpoint is lost, we had to take the last tram out. We got boarded, Zarya and the rest of our crew are holding them at bay, but I don't know if we'll make it there!"

Quickly Shepard looked around her: she had the Overwatch elite on her, plus Park and another hardsuit, and Amari plus all three of her airborne troopers. There were others, but the jumpjet squad could only carry four. "Hold on,  _tovarich,_ help is on the way!"

Layali at once grasped what Aaliyah meant and nodded. "We can do it."

"Good."  _That spares me from ordering you to find a way._ It was no idle comment, though: there were a hundred things that could go horribly wrong, for the tram was a maglev train and came in blindingly fast, but there was no time to dwell on those. She had to trust Amari and her team could get her there. "Brulirea, we're going to need help getting aboard that tram."

"We'll manage that for you, ma'am."

That the airborne troopers occasionally would have to carry others with them was nothing strange; they trained for the eventuality and were equipped to deal with it. It took them scarcely less than a minute to get their comrades tightly strapped to their suits.

"Everyone ready?" Shepard asked. She got thumbs up and yeses from Genji, Tracer and Martinsson in return. Anika, having independent flight capability thanks to her Valkyrie suit, would follow them on her own. "Alright. Amari, you're the boss."

Behind her, Layali nodded dryly. "Hold on tight. It won't be a nice ride."

It felt like a mule had kicked her in the back as the airborne trooper jumped forward. When Shepard had been promoted to full colonel, she had had to undergo mandatory training on all the Starwatch specialties still unknown to her up to that point, and one of those specialties was Amari's role. She had hated every second of it. Unlike Tracer and Pharah's daughter, her piloting skills were just barely good enough for her to get the handle of a Kodiak. On a good day.

What Amari was doing now was far and beyond anything Aaliyah could ever accomplish in her stead. The tram tunnel was wide enough for two trains, but little else, and not exactly tall. One tiny mistake and they would bounce and ricochet themselves into thin red paste—but Layali and her subordinates were not worried about the constrained space in the least. Shepard briefly wondered if Amari was enjoying herself. Probably not. Someone else would have joked that woman had a solid block of ice on her chest, but Aaliyah knew her and appreciated her enough not to make that pun.

Lumiscant alerted her: "You're approaching the train now, ma'am. We'll slow it down for you."

"Not a moment too soon."

"Good luck to you, ma'am."

"Thanks."

It was not a passenger train, as Shepard had expected it to be but a cargo train instead. Quite likely they had had to take whatever they had at hand.

As if on cue, the front loading ramp opened. Aaliyah's blood chilled when she caught a glimpse of all the people packed inside: "Here we go, ma'am, get ready!" Amari warned.

There was no easy way to go about it. Or so it appeared. The railcar was packed full with people, but nonetheless Layali and her crew managed to put their passengers inside the car without hurting anyone. That they did so in quick succession only underscored just how good those airborne troopers were. Shepard made a note to write a citation for Amari when this was over.

Palukhina approached her: "Where's Zarya?" Shepard asked on the spot.

"On the rear cars!"

Aaliyah merely nodded and stormed off. Tracer darted ahead of her, while the rest of her troopers followed. They passed car after car crammed with wounded and crates—

"What's this?"

One of the last cars was mostly empty, except for a tall monolith within a hardlight shield. Green and turquoise lights pulsed on its sides.

"This is what they're after," Anika realized. "It's a… a Prothean relic!"

Abruptly the door on the other end of the car opened. Zarya almost collapsed on the floor, then the half a dozen troopers that came behind her covered her and helped her back to her feet.

Without being told, Anika flew right next to the Starwatch commander, while Shepard and the rest of her team moved in to screen them. Pieces of Zarya's armor were missing, and cuts and bruises covered her exposed skin.

"What happened?" Aaliyah asked, as gently as she could manage.

" _Shepard'yeva…_ They got… biotics with them," Zarya panted, and winced in pain. "Their leader… we met him once, in Pokhara. It's one of the… the Turians we rescued. He's… he plowed through my men!" Anger flashed on her face, and it seemed to restore some vigor to her exhausted frame.

"The Turians we rescued—" Then the words of one Garrus Vakarian flashed in her mind:

_If someone could survive down here, it would be Saren Arterius… you would know of him eventually._

As if to confirm Zarya's words, the door was torn out of its hinges and pulled away by some invisible force, then a torrent of gunfire poured in. "Stay behind me!" Shepard shouted as she deployed her squad-shield and retaliated with a hardlight blast. Martinsson moved in to join her—

—there was a pulse of blue and purple light, and a thunderous explosion shattered Shepard's shield and sent her flying with such violence that she crashed through the hardlight barrier—

—and the Prothean monolith suddenly went alive. An invisible force kept her suspended in midair right in front of the relic.

" _Shepard'yeva!_ " Zarya saw this happening, and lunged after her.

It was a mistake.

The black orb of a singularity trapped her. Helplessly she floated and turned around, to see the Turian leader weaving his hands until they both were ablaze with blue-white light—

—and then, both toroids collided with the singularity. The detonation sent a shockwave that knocked almost everyone unconscious and nearly sent the railcar out of the rails.

Anika, in the back of the car, had escaped the worst of it, but was not spared what came next, as the Turian cyborg directly reached for the limp, bloody Zarya—

—who was not so limp after all. A viselike grip caught on the metal limb, and the Russian pulled the Turian down in a perfect wrestling maneuver her attacker did not see coming. Twisting her legs around his neck, she reached for her knife, and hacked downwards with her every ounce of remaining strength—

The blade buried itself on the left eye of her attacker.

Her assailant twisted his head in an impossible angle —snapping the blade as he did— to glare at her insolently with his remaining good eye, then with no apparent effort he extricated himself from her grip, lifted her by the collar of her armor—

—and only then seemed to notice Shepard suspended in front of the monolith.

The Turian let out a furious bellow. With immense strength, he slammed Zarya against the wall of the railcar one, two, three times, then he flung her against Shepard. There was an explosion of green lightning, and both women crumpled to the floor. The Prothean relic was reduced to a smoking ruin.

There was a moment of deathly stillness as the Turian cyborg breathed heavily, stomped on the floor twice in frustrated rage, and stormed out the same way he had come.

* * *

"How is she?" Anderson asked quietly.

Both Palukhina and Ziegler shook her heads. The latter's eyes were bleary with tears.

"She won't make it," Anika whispered, her voice quivering. "Her wounds are too severe. And even if she was in shape to be cyberized, she would have none of it."

Zarya's makeshift bedding was surrounded by people. Lena Oxton, Genji Shimada, Layali Amari, Mila Palukhina, Anika Ziegler and David Anderson were some of those.

"She fought omnics for decades," Anderson agreed in a low voice. "Becoming something like that would go against all she stood for."

Silence gathered, only broken by the sounds of the life support machinery that kept Zarya clinging to life.

"And her?" The CO of the  _Thermopylae_ turned to Shepard.

"We… can't say,  _tovarich komandir,_ " Palukhina answered haltingly. "She doesn't have anything other than a mild concussion, but her brain exhibits patterns of anomalous activity. That relic did something to her, but we don't know what it was."

Tracer found she had no tears to shed. She could not. All that adrenaline and sweat and blood had been spent… hoping that the outcome would be other than this. The defeat was so utterly soul-consuming that it totally drained her of any ability to express her pain.

Her eyes veered alternatively between the agonizing Zarya and the unconscious Shepard, never staying on either for long. And all the while her mind was catatonic, seeing everything red and locked in a loop she could not break…

_No, no, no, no, NO! Not YOU! Of all people, NOT YOU!_


	16. Citadel: Snipe hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different team on a different place of the galaxy go after a different -and much elusive- quarry.

Freeport 74 - Attican Traverse 

The Drell guard beckoned Amélie forward. "Put the bag down and stand on the square. And hold still. You don't want to start over from the beginning."

Widowmaker obeyed. The sentry drones went over her and her luggage. She knew they would spot her rifle and sidearm but Miranda had forewarned her:  _not carrying weapons openly here invites trouble._

The drones hovered away. The guards pointed their weapons away but still did not relax. "State your business here."

 _Drell have eidetic memories,_  Miranda repeated in her mind.  _They will remember everything you say, down to the last word and gesture, so you would better be honest._

So she replied, "Following a lead on a bounty."

The lizardlike humanoid frowned. "Freelancer?" she asked.

Again Amélie was prepared for this. The hardest thing was controlling her accent. "No. I work for Hades Security. You can examine my credentials once the scan is complete." She gave the guard a coolly wry look:  _I wouldn't like to start over from the beginning._

This earned her a grunt. "Hades, yes. We'll have to go through those. Who is your target?"

"A hacker and smuggler."

"What's her name?"

Amélie smirked. "For which time of the day?"

The guard understood. Still she warned her: "If your quarry is here and you capture her, we have to take a look at her."

A stare. "And not a share of the bounty?"

"That goes without saying," the guard said, then an electronic beep rang. "You're clear. Head on to customs. An officer will have a look at your documents."

Once she was through, Amélie made her way to the lounge and bar next to the docking bays, and sat quietly to wait for her partners to join her. When the VI popped up and prompted her for a drink, she blinked in surprise:  _they have sparkling wines this far?_  She dismissed the offer, though, and settled for some mildly citrus-flavored water.

Eight minutes later, Reaper joined her, then Miranda followed after another six minutes. The assassin was again clad in nondescript black powered armor. Only Amélie could know Reyes was not comfortable without his mask; the man's jet-black eyes were cold as ice.

"What is it with these people and their fixation for living on rocks in the middle of nowhere?" Reaper asked morosely.

"That's exactly the point," Miranda noted. "If we had a hard time getting here, so would those wanting to get their hands on any of the locals."

Amélie stifled a groan. 'Getting there' had meant making half a dozen jumps and traveling for almost three days, and since they were keeping a low profile they had had to hire out multiple ships along their way.

"This lead would better pay off," she said simply.

There were many bars and pubs close to the docks, which was of course only logical — and at a time surprising: unexpectedly, Freeport 74 had a lot of traffic. Their initial contact there served drinks on one of those pubs, and Miranda led Lacroix and Reyes into one such place. Most of the tables were taken, so she went to the counter — and looked for the barwoman: "Orila?"

"Who wants to know?" The slender Asari turned around to face the inquirer.

"Lisk sends his greetings," the brunette said obliquely.

For a moment, the blue-skinned girl stared in puzzlement, then she blinked twice and exclaimed: "That big old lizard sent you? I hope you've come to pick up his tab."

It was part of the cost of doing business. She tapped her omni-tool a few times. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the surprise."

"Supposing he doesn't get himself killed before returning here," the barwoman quipped acidly. "Now what do you want?"

"Lisk had asked your boss to do some digging around on someone for him. Ten-odd standard days ago. He wanted it done smoothly, though."

Lacroix and Reyes, in the meantime, kept a pretense of disinterest while looking guardedly at their surroundings. There were aliens of all shapes and species on the bar. Neither of them were experts at reading aliens, but Amélie did her best effort. While a few were outright unkempt, most of the patrons wore passable clothes or functional suits, nothing flashy. The place was adequately lit — it was not one of those dark dens where all kinds of shady deals would take place. It had none of that charm either. And most of the patrons sat alone, staring idly at the large screen set on the wall opposite the counter, in a fashion she had seen before in similar places on Earth. These were drunkards and derelicts gripped with melancholia, sitting on that bar because they had nowhere else to go.

And yet there was still something wrong. Long familiarity and years of working together meant a gesture and a look was everything Reaper needed to interrogate her:  _You feel it, right?_

 _Yes. Someone is watching us,_  she agreed.

Orila had expected a passphrase, and got it when she heard the request for smooth work. "Oh. Well, let me see if Rupil left something for him," the barwoman replied with unease. She reached for a tablet computer below the counter and read some ciphered text neither former Talon operative could understand. "Oh, yes, here, this." She forwarded the decrypted contents to Miranda. "Tell Lisk there's other people around after this slicer," the Asari said nonchalantly, then as another patron approached, she moved on to take his order: "Yes? What will it be?"

Lawson walked away, with Reaper and Widowmaker in tow. The Cerberus officer was mildly annoyed that the Asari had made such an elementary mistake as saying out loud something about their target, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"She's alerted someone," the man said with that deep, unnerving voice of his.

"Quite likely," Miranda agreed warily.

"I suppose it would be unreasonable to expect the opposite here," Amélie commented, her pitiless yellow eyes very alert now.

They walked through the corridors, eventually ending in an open market square crowded with people. Miranda trusted her security to her fellow agents while she sifted through the information she had been passed on.

"So what have you got?" Reaper asked huskily.

"Nothing solid," was the reply, slightly more annoyed than before. "A half dozen likely places to start looking or asking questions, twice as many aliases. No videos or pictures, not even a poor quality snapshot."

The man snorted in amusement. "It's her alright."

"What about the people after her?" Amélie asked.

There was more material on those: fresh pictures, customs logs. It took some ten-odd seconds for Miranda to gather enough for an answer, though: "Newcomers, too. Asari, Drell and Salarians. They appear to be mercenaries, but they don't belong to any of the large syndicates. Or at least that's what their documents say."

"How convenient for them," Reyes snarked.

Amélie just kept on walking while her brains mated what she had been told about each alien species with expected battlefield roles.  _The blueskins will have to go first…_

The Cerberus officer was analyzing the data. The information about their target was scarce — no other word. The half-dozen locations all were on the most unsavory and violent part of the Freeport, a place called the Warrens, for it was infested with vorcha. Her mind went back to Ilios and the extremely few hints that their operatives had been able to uncover there, and once again she found herself wishing that she had better intel, but, weak as it was, that was all there was.

"So who's first on our friendly visit list?" Again the cold snark.

Instead of replying, Miranda sent both Lacroix and Reyes the details on their next contact: a volus currency trader and loan shark, his name Taron Von. As such, he was one of the most universally hated persons on the Freeport, but he had never been caught red-handed on anything — and besides, the Cerberus lieutenant thought, he probably would have bought out everyone who was in position to threaten his interests.

"Some charming fellow," Widowmaker quipped humorlessly.

"We rarely get the chance of picking who to work with," Miranda replied, as staid.

"Do we ever?" Reaper asked rhetorically. "He surely has a lot of goons."

"According to this, a fifth of the firepower of the station, barring the Warrens."

Amélie's lips curved into the barest half-smirk. "He doesn't rest easy at night."

The place where Taron Von ran his business was easy to spot: huge luminous signs commanded the view of the market, offering 'great rates' and 'one-time deals' for 'quick cash'. The quartet of heavily armed and armored Krogan mercenaries that stood guard on the main doors also was easy to spot, as well as the sentry guns and the cameras tracking their steps.

"Hello and welcome to Taron's," the Asari receptionist flashed her best smile at them. "I am Selyana. What is it that you need?"

Miranda skipped the pleasantries. "We're from Hades Security. We understand your boss has a lead on a bounty. Can we speak to him?"

The Asari shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, but mister Von is a very busy man." She started tapping commands on her touchscreen. "If you want, I can put up a request for a meeting—"

A voice interrupted her: "Let them in, Selyana… *hiss*… After taking precautions."

The receptionist stared briefly in confusion at the screen, thrown off by the sudden disruption of her routine. "Yes, mister Von, immediately." Then she turned back to Miranda: "You're welcome to see him, but you have to surrender your arms first."

"Sure thing." With motions quicker than sight Reaper drew his shotguns and aimed them—one at the woman, and another at the Krogan guards that had been caught completely by surprise. "Where do you want the first bullet?"

At once alarms rang. A side door opened and an Asari clad in full battle dress appeared, but a blue dot lit up over her left breast. "Anything moves, including your fancy turrets, and you'll watch this from the afterlife." Widowmaker did not blink. "If you actually believe in any kind of afterlife, that is."

Miranda closed her eyes and cursed their impetuousness. She had not moved. "We are not parting with our guns. Hades operatives do not recklessly kill honest merchants." The veiled insult did not escape anyone. "Only bounties who prove too difficult to handle."

The Cerberus agents and the guards squared off. For some very tense three seconds, nobody moved—

"It's alright," the voice of a volus spoke through the speakers. "Let them keep their weapons. It's nothing… *hiss*… you shouldn't be able to handle." There was a veiled reprimand on the tone, and a promise to deal with this failure later.

Reluctantly the guards holstered their guns. Reaper and Widowmaker still kept them up, looking for hints of an ambush, then slowly lowered them. The Asari bodyguard looked at them stonily, then motioned for them to follow her.

When they walked into Taron Von's office, Miranda understood why the volus had acquiesced: a heavy-duty barrier surrounded his desk and seat, and half a dozen heavily armed mechs kept him company. "Welcome. Please be seated… *hiss*… Excuse me for not shaking hands. I would have to turn this off."

"No offense taken." The Cerberus officer was conciliatory, but firm. "We need information."

Von raised his head briefly. "I'm not a data broker, miss Sutherland… *hiss*… You're better off hiring out the Kizzik brothers for that."

"They would probably tell me the facts second-hand. I understand someone stole from you."

At once the volus' demeanor changed. "Yes. An important sum of credits… *hiss*… along with some sensitive information. I've already sent… *hiss*… a group of bounty hunters after the thief."

"We are after this slicer too. We also know our target is in the Warrens. We could fight our way in, but having someone who could get us in there would be useful."

Von was thoughtful for a few instants, then: "Retrieve the data stolen… *hiss*... and we're even. You can keep the credits as your fee. I guarantee it will be more than enough compensation… *hiss*… for your services. What you do with the culprit is your own business."

"Fair enough," Miranda agreed.

Taron tapped his own omni-tool a few times. "Silthea will escort you there."

* * *

Silthea was none other than the Asari mercenary Widowmaker had threatened with her sidearm. She had given them a withering look upon learning of her orders, and coldly gestured them to follow her.

The Freeport was a city floating on a void almost entirely isolated from the rest of the universe. The star orbited by the planetoid where it had been built was an ill-tempered white giant, and reaching it required jumping to a relay on a nearby star system and a long, slow trip thence.

But apparently there was no shortage of people wanting to live outside the boundaries of large galactic governments, Miranda thought, given the size of the place: it was about half as big as Omega. Security was all-pervasive there, though, unlike on the domains of Aria T'Loak: the red-clad guards were visible everywhere.

As they made their way towards them in sullen silence, she recalled the briefing on the Warrens. Not an official part of the station according to the ruling body of the Freeport, they had been originally nothing but some caves dug by a gaggle of vorcha, who had progressively expanded them as they multiplied. Now the place was the dark face of the port.

And, given the number of guards on the final checkpoint before getting into the Warrens proper, it was stubbornly minded on staying that way.

"You again?" The Turian lieutenant in charge bristled when he spotted the Asari.

"I'm glad to see you too, Vartus. I need to go in."

"Business?"

"These guests are after someone who stole from my boss. They're going to get it back." Her voice was laden with sarcasm.

The Turian appraised the 'guests.' "Humans? Oh well, it's your funeral, none of my concern." He gestured at a couple of Salarians to open the large hatch-like door. Powerful lights turned on. "It's busy there today."

"Isn't that news," Silthea quipped acidly.

"Curfew starts in five standard hours," Vartus warned. "If you're not back before then, the gate will stay closed and you'll be on your own."

"Understood," Miranda agreed.

As the huge blast door opened, the difference between the sections was immediately obvious: the station was relatively clean and well fitting, but the passageway before them was ramshackle and haphazard at best.

A gang of armed people was on the other side. A tall Krogan asked menacingly: "You kicking some people out into the slums, Vartus? Kind of you." He eyed Silthea lustily. "How nice to see you again. Where are you keeping the chains today?"

Beneath his coat, Reaper reached for his guns. Miranda gestured at him to stay put, but she was already preparing herself to unleash a biotic attack if it came to that.

"Somewhere where I won't use them on you, Wartoc. Piss off."

The gate started to close behind them. "Well, girl, too bad, this is our turf. There's the tax to pay, you know."

Silthea was instantly ablaze in blue fire, and at that point Miranda mentally sent her omni-tool a command to message Reaper and Widowmaker:  _safeties off._

One of Wartoc's henchmen moved—but before he had finished raising his rifle to point it at their Asari guide, Reaper had already drawn his shotguns and pulled the triggers. The four-eyed alien's head blew in pieces.

"There's your tax," he spat mockingly. "Maybe you want to assess some transit fee as well?"

The Krogan looked at the dead Batarian next to him, then glanced at Reaper and grinned evilly. His jaws were full of serrated metallic teeth.

"You got a quad, human. It's been a while." He turned around to leave. "You got until curfew to do your business here. Once Vartus locks the gate you're meat."

That said, he barked an order and turned around to leave. His ten-odd thugs followed.

Reyes holstered his weapons. "That didn't end the way I'd expected."

Silthea flushed. "Wartoc is going to tell every merc and hood about you. You'll be lucky to last those five hours."

Amélie scowled. "Then we'd better move. Lead on."

The Warrens were, as Miranda had come to expect, a labyrinthine, run-down slum, surprisingly similar to some of the worst shanty towns on Earth; she was reminded of some pictures she had seen of the Kowloon walled city before its demolition. Not only the dregs of the port dwelt there; there were also open markets there, peddling fenced or downright illegal goods and services for the disreputable.

As hackers would provide some of these services, it made perfect sense that one of the places Orila's information had provided hints on was an unsuspecting door on one such market. There would be, however, a complication:

"Great. Someone beat us to it." The drab olive-painted door was already open, and three people guarded it: a Drell, an Asari and a Salarian, all loaded for bear.

The Asari frowned, but at length she made up her mind and informed Miranda, "That door is one of the ways into the Scrapper's emporium."

"Enlighten us," Reaper asked mockingly.

"A Turian, he runs most of the gunrunning business here. He's been forced to set up shop here after Aria T'Loak put a bounty on his head."

"That gives us a perfect opening," the Cerberus officer stated. "We're here to buy some guns."

"That's your business. I'm not paid to risk my neck for you."

"No one pretended otherwise," Miranda quipped without looking, as her eyes were scanning the surroundings for a backup team or sentries disguised in the crowd. "Though I was thinking you probably don't want to return alone. Not with Wartoc's thugs waiting for a chance."

The Asari gave her a smoldering look, but said nothing.

They approached the door, expecting to be stopped by the three troopers, but that did not happen. Instead, they found themselves walking down a long hallway, with occasional openings on the sides leading to side rooms crowded with vorcha.

The hallway eventually led to a wide chamber, large enough to accommodate a hundred people. On the other end of it, the exit was barred by a group of Turian and Batarian thugs.

And right between the barrier and themselves, another group — again, a mixed coterie of Asari, Drells and Salarians. They were arguing loudly with the thugs guarding the tunnel.

"What is going on here?" Reaper asked warily.

"Apparently the Scrapper's henchmen won't let them through," Silthea muttered almost imperceptibly. "You got to get in there too?"

Miranda was at a loss. Orila's intel told her that a human hacker grossly matching her target's description had been employed by the gunrunner, but where she was exactly she did not know.

But then one of the Batarians spotted them: "About time! What the fuck happened with you? You were expected here yesterday!"

"Arranging for a secure transport that comes this far is not the easiest of tasks," Miranda answered smoothly. "You should know of all people. Khar'Shan is a long way off."

That earned her a grunt. "Well, get moving. The package is waiting." He barked a command, then the other thugs moved out of the way. The three Cerberus agents walked in as quickly as they could, wanting to avoid the scrutiny of the Drell from the other group — also onto their quarry, no doubt. It was a pointless effort, and they knew it; humans were not that common this far into the Traverse. But they tried anyway.

Silthea glared questioningly at Miranda, but she volunteered nothing. There could only be one explanation for their presence being expected—

The thugs stopped before a door, and after a few instants it slid open on its own.

"Your ride is here," the Batarian announced curtly.

"They took their time," a female voice spoke from behind a helmet as she hoisted a bag. The woman was very old, but wiry and lean, and the head beneath the helmet had half her scalp shaved clean, with two long metal stripes marking the spot where she had been grafted with neural implants.

_Wait a minute here…_

Lacroix and Reyes exchanged a very brief and knowing glance.

If their quarry had recognized them, she did not give it away. "So where to?"

With an effort, Miranda boxed her frenzied worries about possible leaks on her organization to play along: "Our ship is back on the docks. We have to get out of the Warrens."

" _Perfecto._  Let's not waste any time then."

"Not so fast. We need something you're carrying."

At that moment, distant echoes of explosions reached them. The Batarian lieutenant at once turned on his heel: "What's going on?!"

"They jumped us! They just started shooting—" The omni-tool transmitted the sound of gunfire, then went silent.

Automatically, Widowmaker reached for her long rifle —an exquisite recreation of the Widow's Kiss—, leaned around the door, and activated her thermoptic camouflage. Reaper followed suit, drawing his shotguns: "What do you see?"

"They are trying to hold them back at the entrance." Something flared barely out of her sight, and the flash of another explosion would have blinded her if her scope had not automatically adjusted to compensate. At once gunfire started pouring down the corridor.

"Don't they know just  _where_  they're trying to break into?" The Batarian lieutenant tapped her omni-tool and barked a series of orders — completely missing how his charge fastened her bag to her body and vanished into thin air. Neither Miranda nor Silthea did:

"Stay here! Where are you going?" the Asari shouted.

"You're wasting your breath," the Cerberus officer said bitterly. "That woman is exceedingly skilled at doing whatever she wants."

"There goes my payment," Silthea groaned through gritted teeth. "I hope this stupid assignment doesn't mean I get killed here."

Widowmaker was about to prove that concern moot. Talon had gutted almost everything there was in her to make room for the ultimate sharpshooter they wanted to create. As such, she had accuracy to rival that of a synthetic, and only needed to look at faces once to remember them — not to the point of a Drell's eidetic memory, but close enough.

So she did not hesitate when a Salarian briefly strayed through her sights. The weapon boomed, and the slug blew a perfectly round hole through the neck of her target. She quickly retreated out of sight and back into cover, and it was a smart decision, for soon afterwards a cascade of blasts raced down the hallway.

"Got anyone?" the Batarian asked.

The sniper nodded curtly. "One."

"Any way out of here other than this?" Miranda asked. She had not seen any other doors on that chamber, but probably the thug knew of one.

"None. We have to fight our way out."

Reaper merely said, "Let them come."

The thug laughed bitterly. "You've never been to the Warrens, human, right?"

Widowmaker put her rifle aside momentarily to reach for a small device on her belt, prime it, and throw it on the corridor. The recon droid was the size of a small orange, and she trusted it would not draw attention while shooters on both sides of the hallway exchanged fire.

"The attackers are good," she evaluated. They had repurposed the barriers to create some cover for them, and they were slaughtering both the vorcha and the Scrapper's troopers trying to get to them.

Miranda counted. Fifteen of them. "I don't like these odds."

"If we wait for them here we're dead," Silthea manifested.

Widowmaker did not trust the trick would work for a second time, but still she tried. This time, though, she had to lie sideways on the ground, lest some of the Scrapper's henchmen shot her from behind while she was invisible, but it was worth it. Again it took her only a split-second to acquire a target and blow a hole through her neck.

But then, as she again darted back into cover, something went blindingly fast right past her and down the corridor, leaving a blue trail on its wake, and momentarily the shooting ceased, only to be replaced by muted screams.

"This keeps getting better and better, shock troopers," the thug said nervously.

"Shut up and watch." Reaper strode into the hallway and turned into a cloud of living darkness. Some stray shots passed right through him, inflicting no damage — including Widowmaker's own booming rifle — and was over the makeshift barricade instants later—

One of the blue-skinned aliens turned ablaze. The cloud of darkness turned into an almost liquid stream and swerved to dodge the pull of a coruscating singularity, then wrapped itself around the alien's legs. There was a feminine scream as the alien fell to the ground, cut short when the wraith was over her. Blasts of electricity and more blue flashes followed, as the attackers tried to harm the malevolent phantom, or at least shield themselves from it—

—and, at last, one of the Asari managed to catch the cloud with a singularity. A veritable blizzard of gunfire and explosives rained on it, while some of the attackers moved to repel fire from Silthea and Widowmaker.

"We can't break through that, we have to retreat!" Amélie shouted.

Then, unexpectedly, all the lights on the walls and ceilings flashed once, then faded out.

The shooting also ceased.

The attackers looked at their weapons without understanding what was afoot—

One of the Salarians hiccupped loudly behind its helmet, and started to shake uncontrollably. His fellows looked on, without understanding, as the lanky humanoid struggled with his hands, emitting incoherent grunts and groans, and tried to raise his shotgun—

Then he shakily pointed the weapon at the Asari holding Reaper at bay and with a horrified scream pulled the trigger—while, at the same time, explosions ripped through the attackers—

The hall erupted in chaos as the raiders tried to acquire whoever was shooting at them and scrambled to get out of the way from their frenzied teammate, whose terrified screams rang as his weapon fired at them. Amélie wanted to seize the distraction, but her own rifle was also somehow jammed; she reached for her sidearm, but it was an ultimately futile attempt for another blast sent bodies flying—

And the old woman appeared right next to the Salarian, sidearm on her right hand and a grenade on her left. " _Hora de dormir._ " She raised the pistol and blew his head off without contemplations.

Silence gathered.

Without a care, Silthea paced forward and walked right up to their quarry, who with complete calm handed over her bag—

" _Attendez!"_  Amélie called, racing forward, having grasped too late what was going on—

—only to collapse on the floor on the spot, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Reaper staggered to his feet and watched without understanding for a moment. Then he noticed the limp body at Silthea's feet. The Asari was busy looking for something within the bag, then at last she fished out a memory core and punched it on the corresponding slot in her omni-tool.

"Great. The whole trip wasted."

Silthea stopped for an instant and gave him a wry, mischievous look by the corner of her eye.

"I wouldn't say that…  _señor Reyes._ "

Only then it dawned on both Lacroix and Reyes who the Asari woman really was:

"You clever bitch."

'Silthea' clucked her tongue. " _No diga palabrotas._ " Her eyes went back to the feed from her omni-tool.

Amélie was dumbstruck. "Sombra…? Is that you? What-what—" Then she noticed it: "Where's Miranda?"

"Safe. I locked her into that room. I wanted some privacy."

"To what end?" Reaper asked sardonically. "Getting reacquainted?"

Sombra shrugged. "In part. It's been fifty years."

The sniper retraced their steps mentally, all the way back to their ship docking on the port.

"There is no sparkling wine here," she said quietly. "You were watching us. Every step of the way."

"And she likely fabricated the evidence that led us here," Reyes added. "What for?"

She put down her omni-tool and glared at them sharply. "Learn what Cerberus wants with me. And see first-hand what they have done out of you."

"'Out of us?'" Reaper repeated mockingly. "They haven't done anything 'out of us.'"

Amélie added, "Besides defrosting me."

Sombra stared at them. "I'll be the judge of that."

"And how do you plan to—"

"Boop!" she grinned mischievously, and tapped her omni-tool once.

"AHHH!" Reaper suddenly screamed in surprise as part of his body became smoky and intangible. His face disfigured with shock as he struggled to reassert control over his unresponsive parts:

"What—what have you DONE to me? LET ME GO!"

Her smirk became dangerous. "Who are you again,  _compadre?_ " She asked derisively. "Gabriel Reyes? Reaper, is it, that you like others to call you?"

A snicker. She paced slowly and mockingly around the paralyzed ex-Talons.

"Reyes is dead,  _hermano._  He has been dead for fifty-one years!  _Eres un pedazo de chatarra._ A buggy, obsolete piece of  _junk._ You ate Gabriel—and you  _still think you're him?_ " 'Silthea' shook her head in amusement. " _Por Dios… pobre Ángela._ If she knew just how bad her initial prototype turned out."

She paused for a second and unloaded another barrage as she spotted the surprise and rage on his eyes: "Oh, no no no, you bad boy. What nasty thoughts you have. Your mom—oh no, wait,  _está muerta también,_ I meant old Mrs. Reyes… who's also long dead now,  _sí_ —should have taught him manners. What? Still surprised? You're a lump of malfunctioning nanites, you think I can't hack into them and control them? Not easy, though — I don't think Angela intended for the nanites to evolve like that."

Now Reaper not only was frozen still like some ghastly doll, he was also unable to talk, but his eyes were alight with murderous rage. Amélie could not move either, but she could still try to stop Sombra from snuffing them out: "But if he is a swarm of rogue robots… why hasn't he started eating everyone?"

Again she snickered: " _Qué chica más aplicada._ You know your grey goo, eh? Oh no, wait,  _black_  goo in this case." Then she approached the insanely furious Reaper and stared at him in the eyes: " _Es la culpa._  Guilt can be a heavy burden. Isn't that right,  _señorita Lacroix?_  Your friend hasn't learned any anger management. Blame Overwatch for cutting corners. That whole mess could have been avoided if they'd had a competent shrink."

Then she dropped the mocking act. "You have to give Mr. Reyes some credit — he wasn't a bad  _hombre._ All he wanted was some recognition for himself. And his crew,  _por supuesto,_ he was proud, but not too selfish. Not that it was undeserved, really."

After a deep breath she continued: "So now he is a lonely man —let's give him the benefit of calling him that and not a swarm of thinking robots—, unable to let go of the burden of his mistakes. He keeps going through the motions, doing what others ask of him when all he wants is for the pain to go away. He believes he could pull the plug anytime, but he feels that letting himself go without fixing everything he fucked up would be beyond wrong. You'd think thirty years would be plenty of time to reflect upon that.  _Pero sale, y qué es lo primero que hace…_  he eats twenty people alive." A shrug. "Well, okay,  _seamos justos. Tenía hambre._ A body has to eat."

She glanced briefly at her captive in the eyes. The fury had subsided somewhat — being slowly replaced by mortified angst instead. She nodded.

And suddenly Reyes found he could speak again: "Ahhhh… you-you-you—" There was a brief look of surprise as he noticed he had also regained control over his body. At once a surge of blinding rage exploded in his head and he almost pounced on the 'Asari'—

" _Adelante. Hazlo._ " She looked at him with blank eyes. But not so blank: a challenge was written on her face.

_Prove me right._

But with an effort he brought himself back from the brink. "You… you always thought you had all the answers," he said slowly, "and the worst of it was that you were mostly right." He sat down where he stood.

Sombra smiled.

"You may be a bunch of old junk, but there may be some hope for you yet."

Very cautiously and in full view of the 'Asari woman,' Amélie reached for her rifle and sidearm and holstered them. "So the leak after the First Contact War…"

"That just turned out wrong," Reyes answered. He sounded tired.

Sombra shrugged. "He figured that saving what he almost destroyed all by himself would earn him some points." She left the rest unsaid: Reaper had failed to factor in his past deeds. A good action had thus been tainted into the definitive disbanding of Overwatch and a creation of something else in its place.

"You can read me like a book, I can't argue with that," Reyes manifested quietly. "So I can just be hacked like any other tin can? You send a few commands and that's it?"

With a sly smile, the 'Asari woman' approached the limp body of the 'old Sombra.' "Oh, no, it's not that easy. Almost no one can." Then the body on the ground started breaking down into tiny multicolored particles that streamed towards 'Silthea.' "But then again, there's almost no one like me. Only you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides the usual thanks to BrokenLifeCycle, whom now I credit as editor and contributor, I also want to thank kyro2009 for again giving criticism and ideas.


	17. Citadel: Kintsugi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions increase between the Alliance and the Citadel while Starwatch pieces itself back together in Elysium.

The Citadel - Council Promenade 

"Ambassador Goyle, this is unexpected," Councillor Melara acknowledged her. "Your request for an audience was intempestive and precipitous. What brings you before us?"

Anita Goyle took it as an invitation to step forward, and so she did. "Councillors, I am here to formally notify you that I am being called back to Arcturus for consultations."

The announcement was as shocking as it was —indeed— unexpected, as all three members of the supreme ruling body of the Citadel blinked at once.

"May we inquire as to the cause for this… recall?" Paratus, the Turian, ventured.

Goyle was angry, sad and disappointed in equal measure. "We got off to a rocky start, Councillors. Still, ever since the unfortunate events of the First Contact War we have strived to be good and civil neighbors. For that we were rewarded with attempts to isolate us and underhanded endeavors to sabotage or outright steal our technology."

"The Council does not—"

"I'm not finished." Goyle interrupted the Salarian Councillor with a cold look. That certainly got their attention, Anita noticed: interrupting a member of the Council was an unheard-of breach of protocol.

_To hell with them._

"Those are serious enough offenses, to which we have chosen to turn a blind eye. We have no more desire for war than you." She made a pause for added effect before adding: "Or so we thought."

"What?" Dalatrass Linron blurted out. "What is the meaning of this? What are you implying?"

The Ambassador stared piercingly at the Salarian. "Don't pretend ignorance. You do understand that you are proving the most bellicose of our citizens correct? I myself have pushed through initiatives to open up our borders to you, even after you did not return the gesture. We wanted you not to fear us. Evidently you have mistaken our openness for weakness."

"Ambassador, if you would please…" Melara did something she was not used to, considering her position. She raised a hand. "I speak for all three of us when I say that your posturing is disconcerting and offensive. Please state how have we offended you."

 _Fine. Have it your way._ Through her omni-tool she requested use of the main hologram projector. A few more commands, and lights dimmed to allow for further clarity as the projector started playing footage from the desperate battle that had been fought on Elysium.

On command, the footage froze to show a clear picture of a Turian trooper.

"We have in our possession thirty-seven Turian prisoners and two hundred and eighty-four corpses. They were part of an assault on the frontier colony of Elysium. Five hundred and fifty-nine humans and omnics died in the ensuing battle."

Deafening silence followed.

"You have our most sincere condolences, Ambassador. Piratical attacks on border colonies—"

Goyle did not give Paratus time to finish his reply. The footage changed to depict a shot of a colossal black and purple starship.

"We have to applaud the ingenuity of Turian engineers. This ship alone smashed through a complex of orbital defenses, sliced in half one of our destroyers, and completely demolished a planetside installation by landing atop it." The recording continued to play, depicting the actions of the starship as she spoke. "One has to wonder which other surprises the Turian military-industrial complex has in store for us. To our knowledge, no vessel exceeding the displacement of a light destroyer can land planetside."

"Ambassador, we understand—"

"Members of our elite fast response corps positively identified the leader of the incursion as Saren Arterius." The recording froze, showing a capture from Anika Ziegler's helmet-mounted camera of the aforementioned Spectre as he neck-lifted Zarya one-handed. "I don't have to elaborate further on his affiliations."

"Ambassador Goyle," Paratus repeated, "while we understand you may be stressed by this appalling attack on your colony, an attack we condemn in the harshest of terms for nothing justifies an attack on civilians—"

"You try telling that to the Shambali who lived in Pokhara."

"—this is ludicrous. No member of the Turian Hierarchy armed forces, least of all one as accomplished and well known as Saren Arterius himself, would knowingly and purposefully endeavour to attack one of your colonies and so upset a relationship that is already unstable enough, as you have adequately put."

Anita Goyle was not moved by the statement. "We are in possession of the identity discs of all Turians who were killed, wounded or taken prisoner by our forces during the battle. Shall we submit pictures of them to you, so you can match them to your records?" A few taps on her omni-tool, then: "There, I have just forwarded them to you. Anything else you need to confirm our data? Information on their weapons and equipment? I'm confident you'll be able to trace down the company, platoon and squad each trooper belonged to."

"Ambassador, no Turian Hierarchy officer has issued orders to act against your ships or colonies, and no member of the Spectres would ever undertake so reckless an enterprise without directly reporting to us," the Turian Councillor retorted irately, now visibly rattled.

"From this side of the aisle," Talron intervened, "it appears as if you were trying to fabricate a reason to initiate hostilities against the Citadel races."

Melara added, "While we have our differences, we do not believe those are meant to be settled by means of armed conflict. We strongly encourage you to think your next words carefully."

"'Fabricate a reason to initiate hostilities?'" Goyle repeated indignantly. "Shall I extend an invitation to Elysium to your ambassadors so they can survey by themselves the extent of the damage inflicted? Do you really believe we would effectively raze one of our own colonies in a false flag attack to 'fabricate a reason to initiate hostilities?'" She stared at the councillors dispassionately, as a teacher would when addressing a slow student.

"A national hero of one of our member states was killed in cold blood by Saren. The embassy mailbox is being flooded with messages from angry people as I speak, Councillors. We are not anywhere near idiotic enough to start a war that we would have no chance to win. Need I remind you that the correlation of forces between our militaries is adverse to us? What could we possibly gain by picking a fight with you?" She paused to let that sink in, then: "We do not wish to go to war with you, but we cannot let this attack go unanswered. We demand restitution for our dead citizens and for the brave soldiers that fought to protect them. We demand a sworn commitment to respect our borders, worlds and interests in the future, and solid guarantees to back that commitment. We demand the surrender of Saren Arterius to have him stand trial for the killing of Aleksandra Zaryanova. We demand apologies and reparations from the Citadel.

"And we will have them, one way or another."

Anita Goyle did not wait for a dismissal. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Elysium - Illyria City

" _Ahhh!"_

"It's alright!" Anika was over Shepard instantly as she awoke. "It's alright. You're safe. It's alright." She looked over her shoulder and shouted at an orderly: "Get colonel Anderson here right now!"

Aaliyah blinked several times, then squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head slowly, and opened her eyes again to look at her restraints.

Weakly she complained, "This again?"

Anika was briefly puzzled, then she understood and lowered her gaze. "I know."

She rested her head again on the pillow, dreading to ask the question, but unable to contain herself: "How many?"

It pained Ziegler to answer. She struggled momentarily while she undid Shepard's restraints, but there was no way to go around it.

"Zarya is dead."

She paled, then her face contorted and a single sob wracked her. "All for nothing…" She covered her face with her hands. "What could we have done better? How could we have saved her? How?"

Anika did not reply.

Another sob, then a deep breath: "Who else?"  _As if it wasn't bad enough…_

Again, Anika did not reply. She instead continued to check the instruments she had set up to monitor Shepard.

"Who else, Anika?" Shepard demanded. "I already know this was a disaster, who else?"

Anderson answered instead as he walked in. "Cumberland, Moronta, Olivera, Schreieder, Westmoreland. And I'll stop there."

_Yes. Please._

The commanding officer of the  _Thermopylae_  sat on the side of the bed. "At least we got you back, XO."

"With all due respect, skipper," she choked out, strangled by the effort not to cry out loud, "that's not much of a consolation."

Anderson handed her a handkerchief. "How about this, then: you managed to save almost all of the civilians. Kerkerian is wounded, but alive. Your squad took only a few scratches. Yes, the Watchpoint was destroyed, but it can be rebuilt. You can't do that with people.

"Honestly, we were rather worried about you. We thought that Prothean relic had left you with some brain damage."

Shepard's eyes flared. "That fucking thing got Zarya and the rest of my men killed. Good riddance." Then she closed her eyelids. "That said… something happened to me. I saw… I dreamt…" She struggled with words. "Scenes of slaughter… synthetics killing organics… I don't know what I saw." Then the huge ship that had crushed the Watchpoint flashed in her mind: "Except for the big-ass ship that attacked us." Painstakingly she sat on her bed and stared at Anderson: "I know one thing: it was not just a dream, skipper."

He eyed Ziegler: "The XO is physically okay, barring a few contusions," she said warily, "but she's had anomalous brain activity patterns and a lot of REM episodes while she was unconscious."

Anderson frowned. "I'd just chalk it up to PTSD," he manifested, "but you were in close contact with this Prothean thing. I read the field notes about it: someone speculated the monolith was a data trove of some kind. A specialist should take a look at you."

"For the good it's gonna do." Suddenly her heartbeat turned into a hammer mercilessly pounding at her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, panting, willing the pain away, hoping it would go away. "Goddamn… on second thought, I take that back… Even though I'd rather be putting holes into Turians."

"Ambassador Goyle was recalled for consultations. She said the Council claimed that 'no Spectre would lead an attack on our colonies without their express consent,'" he informed deadpan.

Despite herself, Shepard snorted. "I wonder if these uptight assholes ever heard what 'plausible deniability' means." She willed her eyes open, holding a hand to her forehead. The pain was not going away. "Just where the fuck did the Turians get that kind of hardware? We didn't know of anything even close to that."

The Mercy AI stepped on the conversation: "Colonel? I'm glad you're okay. Do you have a second?"

"For a given value of 'okay,'" Shepard groaned. "What is it, Angela?"

"This information just came in via the  _Aconcagua._ "

Both Anderson and Shepard opened the report on their omni-tools.

"My God…" the black-skinned officer gasped. "Pokhara, too?"

"They sure are busy. And they're going to say they have nothing to do with it, right?"

The door slid open, then four people walked in: Amari, Martinsson, Oxton and Shimada.

"Lady Doomfist, ma'am," the shieldmaiden greeted her with audible relief.

"Astrid," she returned the greeting with a pained groan. "Good to see you all."

"Ma'am," Layali saluted quietly. She was more withdrawn than usual.

Lena and Genji merely nodded. The ninja was now unmasked, his grief clear for all the world to see. Tracer's pain was even more evident.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the airborne trooper unexpectedly blurted out. "I… we… my men did their best. We wish we could have done better." Layali's eyes were bleary from the tears she had spent.

"Me too," Shimada seconded her. "I thought I had learned this already… how is it in English? It's crude, but real. Shit happens… is that right…?" His words were all that more painful for their awkwardness.

It was not easy to move Shepard. Feeling awful helped her conceal it. "Look, people," she began, "some of you were already fighting wars long before I was born. At times I've felt kind of overwhelmed by the responsibility of being the commander you deserved and needed. I've made mistakes along the way. I'm not the legend Morrison is, and by no means I'm the legend Zarya was." Tears spilled, but otherwise her face was unchanged. "But having you here today, saying that you wish you could have done better, tells me I didn't do so bad. And in this clusterfuck of a disaster I'd not hear anything else.

"So hear me out. Zarya isn't here to tell you this, so I will: get back on your feet and carry on. She went down swinging. Regardless of how angry and sad we may be, it's how she wanted to go down, fighting to protect others. In this she succeeded. Most of the civvies survived. We paid an astronomically high price, but the mission is accomplished. The colony was saved."

"But Zarya was NOT!" Tracer exploded. "That… that  _thing_  slammed her like a doll!"

Shepard's stare was relentless, only softened by the tears that flowed freely down her immutable face. "We seldom get to pick how we kick the bucket. Zarya got to choose. She could have run away and had someone else die in her stead, but she chose to sacrifice herself. You want to honor her memory, fine. Do what she would have asked of you."

Lena's eyes flared and she clenched her teeth.  _Don't you give me that talk,_  she warned Shepard, but otherwise said nothing. Aaliyah understood, but there was little else she could say — and nothing else she  _would_  say. She knew Winston had asked the exact same thing of her. And both women knew as well that Zarya would not be the last to go.

Cronos Station

"Isn't it beautiful, having crossed the whole galaxy on assignment with this kind of news waiting for your return."

Despite her comment, Miranda was not angry. Instead, she felt kind of vindicated. That was the moment Cerberus had been preparing for.

Her superior, for once, was not smoking. He was sitting in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes going over the report he had received on the Elysium incident for the umpteenth time.

"Not exactly unexpected," he manifested slowly, "though the scale of the attack is."

His lieutenant shrugged. "They have wasted a perfect opportunity. If you have secretly built up an advantage in firepower over your enemy you don't reveal it in some raid on a remote colony."

"It depends on your long-term plans. If there had not been a Prothean relic on the Watchpoint, it could be said that they used the attack to send a message."

Miranda merely commented, "If."

A nod. "The relic changes everything, yes. I wonder if they knew something about it that we didn't."

"I have put some feelers out, but I don't believe we will learn anything of significance. I'm hearing some interesting reactions, however. Most of the Turian high ranking officers whose thoughts we know abhorred the attack on a civilian colony —  _but_  agree that, as you said, a message had to be sent."

"Sore egos," he said simply. "Alliance brass is divided. Some are advocating a limited response, while others advise caution. The Prime Minister is still dwelling on the right course." He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes. There is no right answer here."

Miranda knew this as fact. Not responding in kind to the attack would be seen as a sign of weakness, and the Alliance had many enemies hungrily waiting for that sign, but even if they still had conserved a technological edge over the Citadel —an idea shattered by the footage of the huge starship that had razed the Watchpoint— acting against an enemy that overwhelmed them in numbers and matériel was hazardous in extreme.

"I've made it a priority to learn more about the vessel that attacked Elysium," she informed. "Where it was built, where is it based. I'm investigating the colonies hosting Turian forces from which the attackers were drawn."  _Who knows. Maybe they're stupid enough._

He acknowledged her with a nod. "Turians are not known for making mistakes, but we might strike gold. Now, about our 'associates.' How did that go?"

"The mission was a success, as you know. We have acquired another former Talon asset, but that's—"

"Before we move on to that topic, tell me how Lacroix fared."

"She acquitted herself well, even for an environment not entirely suited to her skills. She's sharp, observant and accurate. Within expected parameters."

"Good. Now, about Sombra."

Uneasily she answered, "Actually, it is inaccurate to call her 'a former Talon asset.' She's a complete wildcard, and honors only her own interests. On the good side, she is as every bit as skilled a slicer as we were led to believe, if not more." Briefly she related the assault on the Scrapper's compound. "She has access to resources unknown to us. Quite likely her present body is a synthetic replacement, given her appearance."

"So she is a hazard to anyone outfitted with bionics. Hardly news. Unless…"

A troubled nod. Still ill at ease she added, "We are missing pieces of the puzzle. Nothing I said or promised to her enticed her to join us."

"But still she came with you."

"She came with her Talon colleagues,  _not_  with us. I would limit her involvement to the minimum indispensable, treat her as an outside consultant, if you will. Even then, we will have to negotiate with her every time, and she will always get more out of the deal than us."

Thoughtfully he bowed his head. "So, in practice, the only net benefit of having her close at hand is depriving our enemies from access to her services."

"Possibly," she allowed. "We may find a chink in her armor through Lacroix and Reyes, bizarre as that may sound." Then her omni-tool rang. A few commands, then her brow knotted. "Actually… we probably may have to revise that estimate. We may get good information from her, but not necessarily the data we want."

Illyria City - Elysium

Again Shepard's eyelids felt monstrously heavy. Involuntarily her mind journeyed back to the distant past, when she had woken up to learn from doctor Cameron that Reaper had massacred her squad.

Merely recalling that tragedy caused her to let out a brief moan and squeeze her hurting eyes shut. For a few instants the light filtering through her eyelids waned, but she could not go back to sleep — she was irremediably awake now.

So she commanded her eyes to open. Everything was blurry gray-white for a few instants—

Except for a black and green form sitting next to her bed.

She turned her head and blinked a few times. Her brow knotted in surprise:

"You?"

The form nodded. Eyes she could barely glimpse through the dark green crystal appraised her.

"I've been waiting for you to awake."

She strained to see, and the formlessness receded into a feminine silhouette clad in some kind of atmospheric suit painted in shades of green and black. Her three-fingered hands were clasped together on her lap.

"You're the Quarian girl."

"I still was last time I checked." The face contorted behind the crystal. She was smiling?

Aaliyah allowed herself a brief snicker—and she regretted it on the spot as it turned into bright pain lancing her head.

"Here," the girl offered, and put a cup on her hands. "I was told you could use this."

Whoever had told her that was right. Her dry mouth absorbed the cold water instantly.

"Thanks." Shepard studied her. Given how form-fitting the suit was, she could tell the girl was very slim—almost to an unhealthy point. "You have a name?"

A nod.

Aaliyah waited, but she was silent. "So what is it?"

"Shilu'Vael."

Painstakingly Shepard sat on the bed. "Is it a secret or something?"

She shook her head. "You didn't ask."

Again a smirk. "You're literal-minded."

"Merely trying to humor you." Now the Quarian girl was definitely smiling. The tone of her voice gave it away.

Despite feeling awful, Shepard's next question was: "How do you feel?"

"Better than you, apparently."

"From here it looks like you need to put on some weight."

Her tone became serious. "I haven't had solid foods for a while."

"You should get plenty of that here. Hasn't doctor… doctor Linping seen to it?"

"She tried, yes. But there's this problem…" She said something Shepard's translator did not catch.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? Using simpler words."

"Oh… well… I can't digest your food. At best I won't find it… nourishing? At worst, I could get a very bad allergic reaction."

"Oh, I understand. Turians have that issue too."

"Yes," she nodded emphatically. "I would buy their food, actually."

A wave of nausea washed over Shepard. She clamped her mouth shut, her stomach churning, then after a sickening moment it passed. Then the door slid open:

"Ah, so we're awake." It was the Chinese doctor that had looked after Shilu'Vael.

Aaliyah and the Quarian exchanged a glance, then the alien girl shrugged. They both were awake, in fact.

Xian first ran a brief check on her original patient, then she turned her attention to Shepard: "How did you sleep?"

"Honestly…" Aaliyah had to stop herself from shaking her head again, lest the pain returned to torment her. "I had more of those dreams… Again people getting slaughtered by machines and that huge ship… how much did I sleep?"

"Two days."

A surprised blink. "What?"

The Chinese woman nodded. "We were starting to worry. Doctor Ziegler was recording your brainwave patterns. As a matter of fact she is reaching out to some people about your case."

A groan. "Oh well. I suppose I can't get a replacement brain, right?"

Linping replied deadpan, "That might be a little difficult."

"Screw it. Is there any particular reason for which I should still be in bed?"

"None. It would probably help you if you got some fresh air." The doctor opened a cabinet next to her bed. A freshly pressed uniform was waiting for her.

"Okay." Without a care in the world, Shepard got off the bed and put her feet on the ground — or tried to. She almost fell as she swayed on her feet:

"Watch out!" Shilu'Vael moved to catch her.

"Thanks." She rubbed her eyes and tried to stand on her own, and was annoyed to find out how difficult it was for her to keep her balance. Acidly she joked, "Shit… you're certain no one slipped some booze into my IV line?" This time she managed to reach for her clothes. She stripped off her hospital gown and dressed slowly, under Xian's wary gaze. The Quarian turned her face away from her nude body, something Shepard found odd. "I would have thought you Quarians had no nudity complex. You know, so much people living in tiny quarters…"

"I'm… I was not raised on the Migrant Fleet."

Aaliyah blinked, but Shilu'Vael was not forthcoming, so she shrugged.

"That bruise on your shoulder does not look well," Xian noted with a hint of worry.

"Hmph. I just decided having only one fake arm killed my looks, doc."

Painstakingly she made her way out, the Quarian girl in tow. She remembered something: "Why were you waiting for me?"

Shilu'Vael crossed her arms across her chest. She appeared embarrassed. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life."

"It wasn't just me."

"No, but I already spoke with the other troopers. They were all very worried about you but they're on duty so I volunteered to look after you."

Shepard smiled. "That was very kind of you."

The compliment only caused the Quarian girl to act even more awkwardly. "It's all I can do right now. Might as well do it well."

Aaliyah winced in pain for a moment, then recovered. "Shit… what did you do for a living? Before they captured you?"

A shrug. "Privateering, smuggling, bargain hunting. Whatever it took to make ends meet."

"If I don't intrude, I found it odd that you're not involved with the Migrant Fleet."

"My grandmother was exiled. She… she was charged with treason for disclosing highly sensitive information to some raiders and got banished for it. She got herself killed trying to make up for her 'mistake.' The Admiralty declared her innocent on a posthumous retrial. My mother… she was very angry. She swore off the Fleet and moved to Illium. She still lives there."

"Oh." A few silent steps, then: "I don't know much about your people, but I gather that's pretty serious stuff."

"Very. She's a very outspoken and headstrong woman. She said she would live on her own rather than depend on people quick to look for scapegoats and slow to admit errors."

"For what it may be worth… I don't know your mom but I could get to like her."

Shilu'Vael shook her head wistfully. "You wouldn't. Her resentment has consumed her."

Aaliyah nodded. "That happens." After a breath she switched topics: "We had speculated the Batarians had kept you alive because you would know something that they could use for their research on AI."

"Of course I do," she nodded emphatically. "My suit is almost independently sentient. But developing artificial intelligence is the single most heinous crime on Citadel space."

"Because of the Geth, no doubt."

The Quarian girl sighed. "That was a tragedy of our own making. We got ourselves expelled from our homeworld because of our folly." After a few steps, she noted: "I can't help but be amazed at how peacefully you coexist with your AI creations."

"It didn't come cheap. Someday I'll introduce you to Zenyatta. It would be best if you learned all the facts from him."

Behind the crystal of her mask, Shilu'Vael frowned. "You make him sound like he was some kind of eminence."

"Because he is. But that can't be explained. You have to experience it yourself."

She was in for another surprise when she finally walked out into the street, next to the wreckage of the tram station — and found two very distinct squads waiting for her.

"Ma'am," Yuri Aliyev saluted, the four troopers waiting with him following suit as one. "We're glad to know you're okay."

"I wouldn't say that much," she saluted back, then eyed the huge Krogan and his fellow mercenaries also waiting a few steps from them. "Wrex, was it?"

Surprisingly, the weathered veteran grinned. It was a disquieting visage, like watching an alligator's maw. "You're good with names."

"Colonel Anderson enlisted their services, ma'am. If I may add, I understand it was quite a bargain."

The alien shrugged — or Aaliyah understood it as such. "Think of it as a promotional arrangement."

"Scouting out potential employers?"

"We have little love for Turians ourselves. Bad blood goes back a long while."

"All the way back to the Krogan uprisings, I gather."

A scowl. "We had it coming. No argument there, even if some of my men disagree." Indeed, one of the alien mercenaries did the equivalent of clearing his throat. "They took it too damned far, that's it. But I gather you're not interested in hearing that."

"I am, but not right now." Shepard was actually asking herself why had she sought an excuse when her omni-tool rang:

"Colonel, good evening," Mercy greeted her warmly. "Amari, Oxton and Shimada are on duty but asked me to tell you that they hope for your quick recovery. Kerkerian and Martinsson are on the officers' club and would like to see you."

"Kind of them. I will after I handle whatever it is that you're contacting me for."

"Colonel Anderson asks that you meet him at the barracks outside town."

"Tell him I'll be there ASAP."

"Yes, colonel. Look after your health, please."

"Thanks." Shepard turned to Shilu'Vael behind her. "I forgot to ask. Have you been debriefed already?"

She shook her head. "No. I was out of intensive care only yesterday."

Aaliyah blinked. "And you're already walking around."

"Oh, it's the usual thing for us. Quarian suits are walking hospitals. I'm swimming in antivirals and phages right now."

Shepard headed towards a parked hovercar. "This is neither the time nor the place, but we should later ask if there is something more definitive that can be done about it. Now come with me."

* * *

Aaliyah arrived at the barracks just in time to see a shuttle landing. For a moment, she stood there watching the vessel make its final approach — it was an unfamiliar model, neither a Kodiak nor a Montauk.

"Shepard, you're just in time." Anderson gave her a quick examining look as he walked in long strides towards her.

"Doctor Linping said Anika was trying to get in touch with someone…"

"That's why I asked you to come here."

She nodded and turned to the Quarian: "Please wait for me—"

"She can come too." Anderson had already turned on his heel and was walking back inside the compound, much to Shepard's perplexity.

Something was afoot. The barracks were heavily guarded by Alliance Navy marines — the colonial troopers that usually ran the facility were nowhere to be seen. The soldiers saluted her as she went by, but did not react to Shilu'Vael's presence. That only increased her puzzlement as they traversed the facility.

Anderson led her to the landing pad set behind the barracks. Scores of heavily armed marines lined the sides. The side door of the shuttle opened—and all the puzzle pieces fell into place.

"Shepard," he said formally as the newcomers approached, "meet Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir and Jondum Bau, members of the Citadel Special Tactics and Recon agency."

Behind her, Shilu'Vael held her breath in surprise.

"The Spectres are here to investigate the attack on our colony," Anderson informed. To Shepard's arched eyebrow, he replied by gesturing at Vasir:

"The Turian Hierarchy is investigating this incident at our behest," the Asari stated. "The orders for the attack were issued by a high ranking officer of their navy, without any involvement from policymakers."

"So far, we have confirmed that all of the identity discs in your possession are genuine. Evidence seems to place the blame on a rogue admiral," Bau continued. "One with a known history of advocacy for concrete action against the Systems Alliance."

"Which is all suspiciously convenient," Nihlus concluded. "And it does not explain Saren Arterius. Hence our presence here."

Shepard bit her tongue as the names of her fallen soldiers jumped to mind, but no one failed to miss the incendiary glare. "This 'suspiciously convenient' thing you mention got  _my men killed,_ " she spat in hatred. Anderson warned her with a look, but she was past caring. The dam had broken and black acid flowed out, burning her mouth. "So you now come here and explain these beautifully logical things to me. 'Oh, it was a rogue officer, we're sorry, it won't happen again.' Well,  _fuck you._ "

The Turian Spectre took no offense. "We understand. I would react exactly as you did. I would also be working hard to hold myself in check."

"You can take that empathy and shove it. Are we done here, sir?"

"We are here on an unofficial basis. The Council does not know we are here," Nihlus replied. "And even if they knew there's little they could do. Spectres are appointed by them and report to them, but only other Spectres police us.

"We have reasons to suspect a hidden agenda, and we are going to look into this, however deep it goes. We're not politicians. There has been enough enmity and killing between our species to add more to it. We came here to communicate it in person — and to ask for your cooperation. Your ambassador said that you had no more wish for war than we do."

"And she's right," the Salarian added.

"Garrus Vakarian here suggested we tried to recruit you first," Vasir pointed out. Garrus stepped aside from the group of aides behind the Spectres and gave her a nod in greeting. "He's worked shoulder to shoulder with you and vouches for your capabilities and those of your men."

Shepard blinked twice and stood completely motionless for a second.

"Let me get this straight." She shifted her gaze between the Spectres, Vakarian and Anderson. The black-skinned officer winced, knowing her and knowing what was coming — but he did not stop her. "A Turian assault force wrecks this colony, blows my ship in pieces, massacres civilians and tears through  _my_  men, outright  _murdering_  one of the most legendary and beloved symbols of Starwatch." After a brief, irate pause, the punchline came: "And now I got another Turian asking me to work with him."

Nihlus was impassible. "Yes."

Aaliyah snorted in disbelief. "I don't know whether you're too naive or too stupid."

"You've worked with those you called your enemies in the past," Bau pointed out. "Even with one you had long-standing issues with. And yet you set aside your emotions, worked together, and prevailed."

She shot a blazing glare at Anderson.  _Thanks for spilling the beans, skipper._  She clenched her jaw and pursed her lips, searching for a reply.

"And you're trying to equate that situation with this one."

Shilu'Vael had remained silent thus far, both out of amazement at being allowed to witness such a meeting — and out of stunned surprise. Anderson had let her in on purpose, she realized now.  _How could they know?_

"If I may…"

"What?" Aaliyah said curtly.

"Do you know the stories of these people?"

"Yeah, Spectres are basically the Citadel version of Blackwatch," she sneered. "So what?"

"I—I don't know this 'Blackwatch' you mention, but they are the… you could call them the ultimate police force. In recent years these very Spectres brought down two different Councillors. I would know… I helped Nihlus' aide expose one of them." Garrus gave the Quarian a knowing nod.

Shepard felt like a sandbag had hit her on her head. News of the political upheaval that had rocked the Citadel had, of course, reached Alliance space.  _So it was these guys?_  "Let me guess. And this ex-Councillor sicced the Batarians on you."

"Probably," Vakarian allowed. "That's one loose end we couldn't get confirmed, but since Shilu is here with you we assume it was as you say."

Again Aaliyah alternatively glared at the Spectres, Vakarian and Anderson. She dominated the surge of anger that had swamped her, took a few deep breaths, and then:

"So you say someone's played you."

The Asari gave her a nod. "It's possible. Who would stand to gain with a conflict between the Council and the Alliance is lost on us, but that's for later. We have to head this off before it spirals out of hand."

Shepard bowed her head and was silent for a few seconds.

"I agree," she said with reluctance. "Even if I would prefer to shoot the lot of you." She clenched her fists briefly, then stared hard at Nihlus. "If you really want me and my men in, I'm not going to hold anything back. Turians blew this colony to bits and slaughtered people I knew for years. You say you're innocent, prove it."

To her surprise, the Spectres nodded as one. "Fair enough," Bau accepted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 for input and proofreading.


	18. Citadel: Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starwatch and the Spectres try to find common ground.

Erinyes station - Attican Traverse

The door of the shuttle opened. Shepard walked out feeling like she was in a dream.

"So this is why we did not know of this place."

Next to her, Anderson nodded. "We hope the Batarians don't know just how close they got."

The hangar was just large enough for a standard freight liner to fit. Next to their shuttle, another was preparing for departure. Their crew — a mixed team of Salarians and Turians — did not give them so much as a side glance as they boarded their craft. An Asari and a Volus coordinated the work of some droids that had been tasked with moving cargo from the docking bays to the walkways and thence to the station proper. An atmospheric hatch set on the rock wall opposite the hangar exit opened, and three humans walked in.

Oxton and Shimada followed Shepard and Anderson as they left the shuttle. Genji was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. "I can understand why Mikhailovich was so concerned."

Tracer, on the other hand, was silent. Her bloodshot eyes surveyed the unique spectacle of both Alliance and Citadel people working together, but there was no spark of surprise on them.

The humans approached Anderson and the dozen people he had brought with him.

"Colonel," a woman with short graying hair addressed Anderson. "Welcome to Erinyes station. If the circumstances were different, I'd say it's a pleasure to have you here."

"I couldn't agree more to that, doctor," he replied. "People, meet doctor Karin Chakwas. She's our lead medical officer here."

Chakwas surveyed the newcomers. "What a set of faces you've brought us, David. The very Lena Oxton herself, and Angela Ziegler's own daughter."

"I knew I would end up here eventually," Anika commented, to Shepard's surprise.

"I had also expected to see doctor Palukhina coming along. I hope she's okay?"

"She was unharmed, but… she's still trying to recover from the shock of the attack."

"By looking after everyone who was injured, I surmise."

"You know Mila. An ER ward is where she's at her best. If that helps her to cope with the stress, I'm not stopping her."

The gray-haired woman bowed her head. "I understand her completely." She then turned to the rest: "And here we have Fareeha Amari's own child, and the intrepid Alliance Navy officer who fought Gabriel Reyes himself. I'm honored to make your acquaintance."

Layali gave her a cordial nod as much as her — currently even more glacial than usual — character allowed. Shepard seized the opportunity to ask instead:

"I was just doing my job, doctor. I surmise this place hasn't been operating for long?"

"Your assumption is correct. It's been here for scarcely less than a year."

"I have my own ideas about it, but why here?"

"The way I understand it, it was a matter of convenience of access for all parties involved. It's more or less equidistant from two mass relays. Maybe a tad closer to their side, actually. Also, it's out of the way. There aren't any colonies nor mining developments nearby."

Chakwas and her aides escorted them through the station to a conference room. A huge no man's land separated two groups — some Citadel operatives, and a gaggle of uniformed Alliance officers.

One of them stepped forward. He had admiral stripes on his shoulders. Both Anderson and Shepard saluted, and the man returned the gesture.

"Colonel Shepard, welcome to Erinyes. I'm Steven Hackett. Anderson has told me a lot about you," he said.

"It's all lies, sir."

Hackett smirked grimly. "The good things too?"

"No, sir, those are all true," she smirked back.

"Good thing that they are. Have you deduced what's going on here?"

"A clandestine installation right between Alliance and Citadel space where both factions work together, probably without sanction from their parent governments? No, sir, I have no idea about what's going on here."

Anderson spoke then. "This is your newest assignment, Shepard."

Aaliyah snorted. "I figured you wouldn't have us come all the way here just for the sights." Then she turned serious. "Who'll be in charge, skipper? Us or them?"

The black-skinned officer nodded in agreement. "That's a concern. We hope to work it out now."

Shepard studied the Citadel agents and recognized a few faces; Garrus Vakarian and Valena Danaan gave her polite nods.

She decided someone had to be the first to break the ice, however much she loathed the whole episode and however bright the memories of the attack on Elysium still burned in her mind—

—but Anika acted first. Upon spotting Danaan, she smiled warmly and approached the Citadel group.

"Valena," she greeted her. "I'm happy to see you're doing well."

The Asari smiled back. Again Anika was overwhelmed by the vast calm that she seemed to radiate. She remembered witnessing that same calm on the sick bay of the Nile — and how utterly the horrors lurking in the mines of Pokhara had shattered her.

"May the blessings of the Goddess be with you, miss Ziegler. Time has been kind to you."

Anika blushed at the subtle compliment. "I only wish that for once we met on peaceful circumstances."

Cronos station

" _Pasen_."

Amélie Lacroix and Gabriel Reyes stepped into the room, only to find chaos. Ceiling, floor and wall panels had been removed, exposing the myriad pipes and cables behind. Random pieces of wiring and computer parts were scattered everywhere.

"You wasted no time," Reaper quipped.

Sombra was squatting on the floor surrounded by cables, omni-tool modules and cylindrical containers marked with all manner of radiation and biohazard warnings. Some of the wires were straight-out plugged into her body.

She snorted. " _Por favor._  This place has enough surveillance and listening devices to outfit a small country. And, as I said before, I want some privacy."

"And a safe place from which to cast your nets, I gather," Amélie added.

"There's no truly safe place, but this one is close enough. They know I'm onto something, they just don't know what it is."

Reaper stood still, arms crossed over his chest, mask on. "You got us all hooked. Now cut to the chase."

The dark-skinned girl looked at him over her shoulder with a malicious glint in her eyes. " _Compórtese, señor Reyes._  All these years and you haven't yet learned patience."

Amélie stayed put. She did not want to provoke Sombra. The girl/woman/nanite consciousness/whatever had a short fuse and could overpower them both with merely a thought.

For the benefit of Lacroix and Reyes, a screen set on the wall turned on. " _Aquí, chicos._  This here is Pokhara on its present shape. Notice something?"

Reaper uttered a groan. "Riiiight… this is where I saved those ingrates' unworthy asses." Then he focused and examined the image closely: "Hold on… The mines… There's a canyon there now."

The bottom of the canyon was littered with glowing blue dots. Reyes remembered what those dots were: the bluebloods that had went down into the mines with him had said that was pure eezo — something exceedingly strange since it never presented itself in that form. Someone had refined it.

"What happened here?"

Sombra switched the view to focus on one of the many fortresses orbiting the world. Those installations had been built as a line of defense against Citadel interlopers first — and later reinforced as repeated attempts to crack the secret of that world had ended horribly. As such, they were very heavily armed and armored…

…but now they were stone-cold dead. Something had punched perfect holes on them.

"What happened here?" unknowingly Lacroix echoed Reyes' question.

Another screen showed up depicting another, slightly different orbital fortress — with identical holes. A cluster of warships was around it, including the huge shape of a carrier. "Compare and contrast _."_

"I've seen this place… this is Elysium."

"And you also saw what attacked the place."

The side-screen changed to depict a shot from Shepard's helmet-mounted camera: a huge black-and-purple starship was firing a red beam on the main tower of the Watchpoint.

Reaper frowned behind his mask. "So the same ship is behind both attacks." He stared piercingly at the huge canyon that had sprung into existence right next to the abandoned remains of the Shambali colony, and noted: "And whatever was buried on that rock isn't there anymore."

" _Así_   _dicen_. Now, onto  _parte dos_?"

"Shoot."

"You're about to get new orders."

Lacroix arched her eyebrows. "Is that so."

" _El señor Reyes_  and his _femme fatale_  should really learn more about who they're working for." Reaper clenched his fists at the comment, but before he could frame a retort she continued:

"I'll give them one thing. These Cerberus  _hombres_  have laundered their income sources more carefully than drug cartels. But not carefully enough… in the end, their trails always lead to the same corporations and sponsors. Some of the latter are hard-line xenophobes who want nothing to do with the Citadel, and they are giving this  _hombre Ilusorio_ —" Sombra heavily laced these words with irony "—quite an earful. They say the Alliance is being too… demure."

"So they're going to send us after some aliens."

" _Exacto_."

"Us?" Reyes muttered. "Out of all people, they're sending us? Might as well announce it to the whole galaxy, right?"

"That's the idea: that they get the message. Not an outright declaration of war, but a limited response."

Lacroix stared stonily at the screen. "Not doing anything would be seen as a sign of weakness." Her voice spoke volumes about how much of an  _idiocy_  the whole idea was in her mind.  _Make a bad situation worse by stoking the fire. Bravo._

"They're not going to cheer at it either. Just look at this."

The view of Pokhara was replaced on the screen with a star chart. A lone asteroid on the border of Alliance and Citadel space was highlighted.

" _Quel est_ —?"

"Meet Erinyes station," Sombra interrupted Amélie, then she glanced at Reyes: "Your friend Aaliyah Shepard and most of your old acquaintances from Overwatch were dispatched there for a very, very, very black meeting with some Citadel Spectres."

Reaper snorted. "That makes things easier." Then his voice changed: "Oxton and Ziegler are soft, but they're not traitors."

" _Yo no dije eso._  They're going to try and figure out just who was behind Elysium and Pokhara."

Now it was Amélie's turn to snort. "That's some gall. To claim innocence after seeing Turians on the ground."

"It gets better,  _señorita_  Lacroix. They have dug up some facts and are outright going to say that…"

Erinyes station

"…That was no ship of ours."

Suddenly the silence in the room was so deep the soft whirring of the atmospheric machines could be heard through the walls.

Hackett stood very still. He stared at Nihlus in the eye long and hard before replying:

"This is hardly the best way to build up trust between us."

The Turian gestured at Tela Vasir. "I want to bring something to your attention," the Asari Spectre announced, then turned on the hologram projector. At once a view of a huge orbital shipyard appeared: like so many bees, assembly workers and droids fussed over an unfinished dreadnought. "These are the Aephus shipyards. The ship you see here is to be christened the  _Tireless_. If you pay close attention to it, you will notice it's almost fifteen percent longer than previous Turian dreadnought designs."

"This is the most modern ship the Hierarchy is constructing as we speak," Nihlus added. "It is supposed to incorporate advances in ferrofluid weaponry reverse engineered from whatever we could glean from you."

The hologram projector shifted to show another shipyard orbiting a different world. This time, the vessel was almost complete, its shape the cruciform silhouette typical of Asari voidcraft.

"Meet  _Maloraphea_ ," Vasir said. "I understand you already know of this ship." Hackett nodded in silence. "The only thing keeping her from deployment is a refit to accommodate a new barrier engine design."

"And, at last, here is the  _Mannovai_ ," Bau noted as the hologram projector shifted for a third and final time. "It will be years before she is ready for deployment, as you can see. She's not the biggest ship we have built by any means, but she incorporates revolutionary technology to minimize heat emissions."

Nihlus gave the Alliance officers some time to let that sink in before continuing. "We decided to share these details with you… and in doing so potentially commit treason… to get a single point across. The ship that attacked you performed feats none of our vessels is capable of. None of those ships could land planetside, let alone slice one of your destroyers in half. No ship in the Council navies can present battle to an Alliance ship of equal displacement and win."

Hackett remained impassible. The officers next to him traded whispers, then finally communicated their conclusion to their leader.

"The way we see it, you present us with a choice. Either we interpret this as an elaborate gambit to lull us into a false position, one further embellished with new information and insights into your military… or we believe what you say."

Shepard's group traded looks between them. With a glance, Aaliyah interrogated Amari; Pharah's daughter replied with a silent nod.

"We suggest you choose the later," Bau encouraged. "I believe I'm talking to some of the brightest the Alliance has to offer. Operatives who achieve similar seniority on the Special Tasks Group have both brains and brawn. I have to imagine Overwatch and Starwatch are no different."

Silence was his only answer.

"If we are to move forward, we do so assuming we're all on the same side." Vasir glared at the Alliance members, one by one, to finally rest her gaze on the two omnic engineers, Brulirea and Lumiscant. "If someone is trying to play us against one another and boasts that kind of firepower, whatever reservations we may have against you and your kind must be put aside."

Neither omnic was impressed, as illustrated by Lumiscant's dry comment. "And by saying that you imply we should do likewise."

"You should," Bau backed his Asari colleague. "You claim to deserve acceptance by the rest of the galaxy and that mistrust against synthetics is entirely misplaced. Take this as your chance to prove your points."

"We cannot afford to bicker here. If we are threatened by an unknown enemy that so surpasses all of us and that counts Saren Arterius as his agent, then we are in great danger. The Spectres are the last line of defense of the Citadel. I need not elaborating further on this." Nihlus looked expectantly at Hackett.

The admiral remained stolid, but he had already made up his mind.

"We will proceed on the assumption that you speak truly." He did not add that, were they to discover otherwise, Hackett and his faction would withdraw their support and use whatever they learned to act against the Council without reservation.

No Spectre needed that kind of clarification anyway.

"We thank you for your trust." Vasir then directed her gaze at Shepard. "That allows us to move forward."

Aaliyah blinked twice, then she suppressed a sigh.  _Here goes…_  "Yes?"

"Your commanding officer informed that you were in close contact with a Prothean relic."

"That is correct."

"And that, following that contact, you noted that you were experiencing strange visions and dreams."

"…Yes."

Nihlus frowned, then turned to Hackett: "For how long had this relic been in your possession?"

A female Alliance officer stiffened. "We fail to see how a Prothean relic is relevant to this incident."

"You're correct," Bau allowed. "There is no immediately obvious connection here. But my colleague here is having a… how is it that you call it… a hunch."

Hackett bristled. "The Alliance is not bound by Citadel regulations regarding archaeological artifacts from forerunner civilizations." He left the rest unsaid:  _and you want us to tell you what we know just because one of you has a hunch?_

Nihlus bowed his head. "No, you're not. But it is just too big a coincidence that this unknown enemy would target precisely the place where research on one such artifact was being conducted."

"And it is also too big a coincidence that you would want to learn about this where this enemy failed, if that was the purpose of the attack — when we haven't even yet discussed Saren Arterius in earnest."

 _Right in the waterline,_  Shepard thought.

Vasir glared stonily at Hackett. Nihlus, on the other hand, was conciliatory:

"You're right," he accepted. "I can understand why you would see it that way. I don't have any more arguments to use against your suspicions but an offer for help instead.

"A young graduate of the University of Serrice posits an interesting theory: certain Prothean artifacts acted as information relays and repositories, equipped with software that autonomously regulated who had access to the data. Information was either communicated by touch or by wireless transmission to the brain via some unknown process — but these devices were carefully tuned to interface with Protheans only. Thus, most of the data contained on other active relics that have survived up to this day remains unavailable to us.

"At most, what we get is something similar to what your colonel has reported to experience: snippets, fragments, dreamlike visions. Multiple people interfacing with the same device tended to get similar but slightly different results, and only in this way we have been able to glean something from them. And, given what she claims to have seen, I believe it's important that we work together to try and make some sense out of the information she received."

The Alliance officers mulled Nihlus' words and exchanged a few whispers. Hackett then replied: "If there is something we could read about this theory, we would like to have a look at it."

"You can have it," Bau said as he tapped his omni-tool, "but I must add that we should not dawdle. When we agreed on this compact it was decided to keep it small because that would allow us to act swiftly."

"I believe we have already risked a lot ourselves to prove our position to you," the Asari Spectre added. "Even if the rest of the whole Citadel people would not, we merit your trust." There was something else floating in the air:  _we are giving, and not receiving something in return._

That implicit rebuke was what moved Hackett to accept. "I see your point. What do you suggest?"

Vasir exchanged glances with her colleagues, and then gestured at Danaan. The Asari veteran approached Shepard: "Colonel? If you would please come with me?"

Shepard turned to Hackett and Anderson. Both nodded at her. Aaliyah nodded in turn and allowed herself to be led out of the room by Valena. Her puzzlement increased as they went down the passageway and entered a small guard room. The squad of Turians there stood up and left on a single gesture of Danaan's.

"What—why did you bring me here?"

"Privacy," Danaan secured the door.

 _Privacy?_  The gossip she had picked up from the Asari emigre program took too long to jump to her mind. She snorted: "You gotta be fuckin' kidding with me."

The Asari turned to face her. Strangely, pity and regret were written on her face. "I'm sorry, colonel. This is a travesty for me. It takes a lot of trust to do this."

"Stay away from me." Shepard took a single step back.

Valena sat on one of the four chairs around the single table there. "I see you've already heard about this second-hand." She sounded disappointed.

Aaliyah found it disarming. She wanted to be irritated about having been talked into that situation but she could not. "Some."

The Asari sighed and lifted her head again to look at her in the eyes. "This can only be done willingly, colonel. I would much prefer there was another way."

"I never imagined getting me laid would become a matter of galactic importance."

Valena laughed out loud, dispelling some of the tension. "Ha! Not quite. What do you think that happens exactly on a melding?"

"It's how you girls f—… have sex."

"Not only that. For a brief instant, we become a single unified nervous system. That allows us to look into each other's minds and memories."

Shepard paled. "Do… do they know?" She pointed in the direction of the conference hall.

The Asari nodded.

"Shit."  _I can already hear the comments… but she would get to know everything!_

Valena read her thoughts and smiled. "Twenty years ago by your counting I melded with Anika Ziegler. That allowed us to learn enough of one another to successfully argue for a cease-fire."

 _HOLY SHIT!_  "She's… she's…  _fuck!_  She knows it all!"

For an instant Aaliyah was overwhelmed.  _So THAT'S why she can talk in English… SHIT!_  "What's keeping you from acting on everything you've learned?"

"A vow to her."

She bristled. "Bullshit."

"It's true, colonel. I truly want peace with you. I wish more of my kind would get to meld with yours so they would learn you're not to be afraid of."

For the first time in many years, Shepard did not know which way to jump. "I… I can't believe this."

"That's why Nihlus wanted me to do it. You know what it's like?" Danaan shook her head slowly. "I have to live with the burden of keeping an incredible volume of secrets from my own kin. And I couldn't live with myself if I betrayed Anika's trust."

"Sure, you fucking couldn't," Aaliyah bristled in disbelief again. "And I'd wager you couldn't live with yourself either if you betrayed mine, too. Right." She ran her hands through her hair. Her trained instincts and experience screamed at her that every breath Danaan drew further jeopardized the Alliance. "Haven't you, er,  _melded_  with your kin since then? How can I know you haven't spread around what you've learned?"

"I'm a guarantor of peace between two civilizations, Shepard. It's a responsibility I'm honored to live with."

"Don't give me that crap!" Aaliyah snapped.

"Eventually I'll introduce you to my mentor and you'll understand." Valena's voice hardened a tiny but perceptible bit: "There is only one thing to do if you want to be absolutely certain."

 _Yeah, allow you to brain-fuck me._  The phrase was on the tip of her tongue, but she held herself back and forced herself to think through her irritation and wariness.  _Did Anika ever mention anything of this… No, she didn't. If she would…_   _Omigod_.

Shepard closed her eyes, took a deep breath and sighed. "Nothing guarantees you'll be able to make any sense of what I saw either."

"No, I agree," Valena allowed, "but I can give you one thing: certainty that you weren't hallucinating."

_I can't be fucking doing this._

She briefly went over everything she knew about Protheans: forerunners, rendered completely extinct roughly five aeons ago. The relic they had left behind had implanted some sort of knowledge on her head, and the only clear scene she could make out of all that was the visage of that gigantic starship — exactly like the one that had razed Elysium.

Her blood chilled as she finally made the connection:  _is it… is that ship… somehow linked to the destruction of the Protheans?_

_I can't believe I didn't see it earlier._

Valena noticed she had went pale again, and was about to say something before Shepard cut her short: "Okay… okay. I… I'm fucking scared, alright?"

She tried to soothe her. "This is not something to be afraid of—"

"I know! I'm not talking about your mind-sex thing!" Again she ran her hands through her hair, then sighed, and looked at Danaan hard: "Okay, let's get this over with."

The Asari read her emotions. She had been obviously agitated by something, and that had been the kicker for her change of mind. She bowed her head.

"Sit here." She pointed at the chair next to hers.

* * *

Danaan and Shepard walked back into the conference room — oddly enough, with the same dreamy and confused look on their faces.

"So?" Vasir demanded.

Valena shook her head. "I'm positively sure it wasn't some delirium of hers."

"But that's it," Bau noted worriedly.

Danaan merely nodded. "I… there's something else there, but neither of us can make any sense out of it."

Hackett, Anderson and the rest of the officers glared at the Spectres. "I hope this whole episode has no lasting effects on our colonel," the admiral said gruffly.

Aaliyah caught a mischievous glint in Martinsson's eyes and shot a searing glance her way, but that was not enough to dispel the sensation of complete bewilderment. She surveyed the room, focusing briefly on the group of Citadel operatives mirroring her selection of Starwatch agents: they were all looking at her with what amounted to complicit amusement.

"No, sir, I… I am fine. A little fuzzy-headed, but fine."  _In no way this is the kind of afterglow I'm used to._

Vasir allowed herself a smirk. "A first melding can be an overwhelming experience."

"So we have learned nothing new." Nihlus' voice was tinged with disappointment.

Both Danaan and Shepard shook their heads.

"No," Aaliyah said. "She… she doesn't know of anything that could… decrypt this. There's something else in my head but it's still locked away."

"So much for that lead," the Salarian Spectre muttered.

The Starwatch platoon watched with some concern as their commander sat again next to them. For a moment Lena came out of her melancholy to glance at Aaliyah with worry; Shepard noticed it and gestured at her not to trouble herself, but her dreamy look was not going away. She looked at the unfolding discussion with disinterest, her mind still trying to come to grips with the  _enormity_  of what she had seen in Danaan's head.

_My God, we were so wrong… we deride the Asari for their… mating habits, but to them… to them we're children venturing outside the playpen…_

_Children toying with the keys to a nuclear arsenal._

Danaan was  _old._  The Asari was four hundred years her senior, and had been a member of the small but elite military of their race for most of her adult life.

Things she had read about, things she had dwelt in concern for some time but eventually set aside as more pressing matters demanded it, now presented themselves before her in all their terrifying majesty.

The Krogan Rebellions.

The Morning War.

The Alliance was standing up to a  _giant_  that had never brought their full strength to bear against them.

And humanity relied on allies that could just as easily—

 _NO!_ She squeezed her eyes shut. _These are NOT my thoughts! If omnics wanted to wipe us out it would be child's play for them… they've insinuated themselves into our society so deeply that if they ever were to pull the plug everything would collapse. They don't need to fight us. If they wanted to win, they would win._

_And how is that right exactly?_

_God fucking dammit, why the hell did I agree to this brain-fuck thing again?!_

Hackett's voice returned her to reality: "We need to move on firmer ground than just the… er… 'visions' of our colonel here."

"I agree," Nihlus seconded him. "And so far, it appears that the only person with answers is the one we haven't yet discussed — Saren Arterius. Much as I'd like it otherwise, there is no contesting that he was part of the attackers… so our next logical step is to track him down and arrest him."

"Easier said than done," Bau noted with some concern. "These would be charges enough to declare him rogue and outlaw if the attack had happened in Citadel space."

"But it didn't, and the Turians will never surrender their most accomplished Spectre," Vasir finished his argument, "so it falls upon us."

"Upon us all," Hackett added. He glared at Nihlus, but he did not appear to be conflicted by divided loyalties.

"Upon us all," the Turian agreed, "Garrus?"

"Sir?"

"Since you've worked in the past with miss Shepard, I trust both you and miss Danaan would be the most adequate guides for her and her crew on Citadel space."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, BrokenLifeCycle contributed priceless criticism and reviewing. You have my thanks!


	19. Citadel: New Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alliance and Citadel agents try to find common ground and strike up a working relationship.

Petra Nebula - Citadel space

Shepard walked into the crew quarters. "Have a minute?"

Lena put down the half-disassembled chronal accelerator she was working on. "Aye, luv, why not."

Aaliyah appraised her with a worried look before handing her a mug. "I thought you could use this."

Tracer smiled. "You never forgot about this, eh?"

A grunt. "Hard to forget that rocket fuel. Hell, who knows, in a pinch it would do if we ran out of helium-3."

Lena barked out a short laugh. "It takes that to keep me up and running, luv." She took a sip, then she withdrew again into her melancholy. "It's good, but still… nothing like Torbjörn's."

"I never dreamed of topping him." Shepard sipped her tea in turn. Her studious eyes did not veer off Tracer.

Lena did not need to ask what was Aaliyah looking at her for. "I'm sorry. It still has to sink in."

"It hit you the hardest," Shepard admitted. She bent her head slightly sideways and was about to ask something, then thought better of it.

"It takes me back… all the way to Gérard. When Talon got to him through Amélie we were all shocked for days." She raised her eyes to look at Aaliyah. They were still irritated. "I know, right, this is not what Zarya would have wanted. I just…"

Shepard sat next to her. "I know. You just can't. It's alright."

She laid a hand on Lena's shoulder. Such a gentle gesture would have been enough to make Tracer teary-eyed again, but apparently, she had run out of tears.

She stared blankly at the partially assembled contraption that served her as an anchor to the present instead. "Zeny told me… back on Earth, Zeny said I had to avoid becoming insensitive, but how… in a way, I'm relieved I still can cry… but a part of me is already so scarred that it… it hurts less than Winston's death. And I'm—I'm—" It turned out that she still had tears left, as they now glistened in her eyes. "It's happening, luv, don't you see? I'm going to become a walking corpse whether… whether I like it or not." A single sob wracked Lena.

Aaliyah hugged the crying girl, realizing she had missed something huge. She was sad about Zaryanova like everyone else and grieved for her — and, much worse, she had felt another piece of her humanity slip through her fingers.

And she had panicked.

"Yours is a choice I'd not like to have," Shepard admitted, ashamed of herself. "I wouldn't dare to say I'd do one thing over another… but seeing you, I believe it's better to accept the pain."

"I… I know. But it's… it just isn't there anymore, luv." Another sob.

Aaliyah held her tighter. "We're here for you."

"Yes, you are now… but in time—"

"Fuck 'in time,' girl!" Shepard snarled. "You want to keep your soul? Open it up to others. Let us help you shoulder your pain. The moment you start pushing people away, you'll have lost."

* * *

"How is she?" Layali Amari asked.

"Hurt… in a way I can barely understand." Shepard sat. Ziegler, Amari and Danaan shared the table with her. "But I do." A memory crossed her head which caused her to snort: "And I get it only because I have read stuff about people going through the same."

Anika blinked. "Other people?"

"Not real people. You'd have to pick up on your Anne Rice and be familiar with masquerades and requiems."

Danaan, having had a thorough look through Shepard's memories, understood it immediately — and refrained from saying anything about it. Aaliyah quickly noticed what was going through her head, and knew why she kept her silence, having also had a close look at Valena's mind. Those things were all too real for the Asari.

Tela Vasir walked into the mess hall, Garrus in tow. "Hello everyone," she greeted. "I have news."

Her tone told Shepard volumes. "Let me guess. You got stonewalled."

The Asari Spectre nodded curtly. "No amount of berating, threatening or cajoling could move the matriarchs. We'll have to go there in person."

"Not even Spectre authority sufficed," Anika noted.

"In theory, it's unrestricted. In practice, figures with enough clout can ignore or rebuff our requests," Vasir admitted.

"Different races, same old story," Amari commented dryly.

"We will have to go there personally to make our case. It's understandable that they're reluctant, though. Xenoarchaeology has yielded many critical scientific advances for centuries now. There is a lot of material still sealed and highly classified."

"Considering what's available from this Cirron woman, I can imagine," Anika agreed.

"I take it that there's no reaching out to this scientist directly either."

"She's on a dig site," Vasir replied to Shepard's comment. "We could go, but she won't disclose anything without the wherewithal from her sponsors. She'd be in a very delicate position if she did otherwise."

"Understandable," Aaliyah sighed, "however little it helps us out."

"There must be something else we can do," Anika argued.

"There is," Vasir agreed. "How is it that you call it? 'Plan B.' We look for other experts. Garrus?"

Vakarian tapped his omni-tool, bringing up a holographic image of a file. "This is doctor Liara T'Soni. She's a xenoarchaeology graduate from the University of Serrice, daughter of Matriarch Benezia."

Aaliyah frowned. "Benezia? The hawk? That's bad news."

"She's so young," Danaan noted on the spot.

"And prolific," Garrus added. "In her short life, she has already published several papers. She doesn't have much of a reputation, though — her colleagues think she is a hobbyist. Not that she seems to care; given her career history, she lives for her work. Her mother is a prominent figure in Asari politics and has a lot of exposure on the media, but Dr. T'Soni couldn't be more different. She keeps moving between dig sites all over the galaxy."

"There is something else about her that should be a matter of concern," Vasir added. "As you noted—" she glanced at Shepard "—Benezia has been advocating for a tougher position against the Alliance on increasingly harsh terms for the past few years. According to some fresh intel, a trigger for that progressive hardening of her stance was that she started sponsoring Saren."

Anika winced. "That does not bode well."

"A warhawk in league with a rogue Spectre," Amari said soberly. "No, it doesn't."

"Benezia has already sent people out to look for her daughter and bring her into the fold," the Asari Spectre informed. "She surely knows Dr. T'Soni can be used against her for leverage if the situation escalates. If they get to her first, whatever chance we have of using what she knows to unlock whatever message the Protheans left on their relic will vanish."

"It would seem we have our work cut out for us, then," Shepard concluded. "What's our next step?"

"Bau, Nihlus and I will go to Illium, and thence to Thessia. You should try to recruit Dr. T'Soni. We have already looked up where she is: your destination is Therum."

Amari blinked. "That's in Alliance space."

"She's conducting her expedition on Prothean ruins there thanks to the auspices of ambassador Goyle," Garrus detailed. "Her exact location was not disclosed for security reasons."

"We'll have to change ships," the jumpjet trooper mused.

"Last time I checked, Eclipse vessels were still barred from Alliance space," the Turian allowed.

"Getting an exception for one would raise a lot of suspicions… So, it's back to Erinyes for us?"

"For the time being, at least," Vasir concurred.

* * *

Shepard and Genji walked into the bridge. It was late in the night, according to the clocks. There were only two of those, one in synch with Arcturus time, and another with the Citadel.

"Colonel," Garrus welcomed Aaliyah. "Feeling uneasy?"

"You could call it that way," she replied. She was emotionally drained.

"Lena-sama is still very distraught," Genji explained. "We are all worried about her."

Vakarian grunted. "Can't say I don't understand."

"How is that so?" the ninja asked.

"Also lost people. Good comrades, good friends."

Something in Garrus' tone caused Shepard to hazard a guess: "Nobody won that war."

"What? Oh, no, I wasn't referring to that." Garrus stood up. The captain's seat seemed foreign to him. "Before I was a soldier, I served on the Citadel security service. You probably have heard of C-Sec."

Both Aaliyah and Genji nodded. "I have," the Japanese said.

Vakarian leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed. "You surely have heard a hundred times about how the Citadel is a place where everyone meets everyone, a shining example of harmony and peaceful coexistence between species that couldn't possibly be any more different." A snort. "Don't buy it. The Presidium sure looks like that, but there are places on the Wards where you'd be ill-advised to go without a company of troops.

"There was one such place where a bunch of Krogan had holed up. Wrex, that fellow you brought, is the rarest kind of Krogan there is — he's  _reasonable._  A depressingly large part of them are bloodthirsty bastards, whose idea of a worthy death is lying on a pool of their own blood surrounded by as many dead Salarians and Turians as they can manage. That kind of Krogan had muscled themselves into owning this slum, and used it to stage a terror campaign against anything that had even the slightest whiff of having been involved with the Rebellions." He shook his head. "That was bad."

Again, Danaan's borrowed memories flashed through Aaliyah's mind. Respectfully she asked, "How bad?"

"Bad enough that I picked up that small tidbit of wisdom I was telling you about earlier: there are places you don't go without a company of troops. We had two whole squads of heavy weapons teams, all military trained, all solid, reliable people. Only eight returned alive."

Genji was slowly learning how to read Turian facial expressions. "This one is personal to you. Am I mistaken?"

"No, you're not." A heavy nod. "I planned the whole operation myself."

 _Shit._  Out of all Turians, Vakarian was the one Shepard disliked the least, having seen first-hand the brute competence and leadership he was capable of. "Sorry to hear it. Really."

"Thanks." His voice distilled regret.

Genji dwelt for a few seconds on Vakarian's words before formulating his response. "I was once dispatched along with my master, Lena-sama, Zarya-sama, the old Overwatch commander and Anika's own mother to foil a terrorist plot. It was in London. Back then, the city was a hotbed for anti-omnic sentiment, and an organization had orchestrated an attack on one of their dwellings.

"They initiated their assault by whipping the locals into a riot. There were many hate groups against the omnics in that city then, so it was not hard for the terrorists to incite them. When we arrived, the omnics had barricaded themselves inside their compound… They did not know that they had played right into the terrorists' hands and exposed themselves to an EMP strike." Genji took a deep breath. "To stop the terrorists we had to quell the riot. It got violent, and ended in a bloodbath. That was one of the incidents used to charge Overwatch with excessive collateral damage."

"The Second King's Row Massacre," Shepard commented grimly.

Genji nodded. "Talon's involvement came to light many years after the episode. By then the UN had already stripped us of their mandate and driven us underground."

Vakarian looked at the Alliance agents with an odd expression. "If I understood you correctly, you are telling me you had to shoot violent rioters and terrorists to protect some synths."

"To us, they're equals, Vakarian," Aaliyah pointed out, both to make it clear to Garrus, and to quell the turmoil Danaan's memories had brought to her own mind. "I know it doesn't make any sense to you. Shimada-san here is nothing but a brain and some glands mounted on a fully cybernetic body."

The Turian bowed his head in apology. "You're right. Please excuse me." He sat again. "To us, it appears that you're reckless at best, but you know this already. I should not have brought it up."

"No offense taken, Vakarian-san," Genji said magnanimously. "It will be decades before we see eye to eye."

 _Supposing there's a way to bridge that gap in the first place,_  Garrus thought, but decided to keep it to himself. "We've all had to deal with awful things," he summed up. "I would like to ask why you had to opt for a cyberized body, if I may."

"Of course you may. I owe Mercy for it." When Vakarian stared in puzzlement, he clarified: "Oh, I meant Anika's mother. Back on Earth, my family is a clan of yakuzas and ninjas."

"Say again?"

Genji laughed good-naturedly. "These are Japanese terms. The yakuza are criminal syndicates, some more or less refined or brutal than the others. Ninjas are mercenary assassins and spies that originated during the medieval age of my country."

Vakarian made the Turian equivalent of a frown. "Ah, I remember now. I've heard of ninjas. They remind me of Asari commandos."

"It's quite accurate, actually," he allowed. "I was a rebellious and irresponsible youth, and the elders wanted me to take part in the clan's activities. They sent my brother to bring me to heel. We quarreled, argued loudly, and eventually came to blows. Hanzo-san thought he had killed me and lived for years in regret, but in truth, Angela found me and restored me, in exchange for my services as an Overwatch agent."

"Back then it was ground-breaking, but right now it's pretty much standard procedure for heavily injured vets," Shepard added, pointing at her own left arm. "My own father has prosthetic legs; he had to get them after his gunship was shot down. That didn't stop him from raising a family."

"You surely must have something like this," Genji asked.

"Not full-body replacements like you, but we do," Garrus replied. "Since the Morning War, Citadel people are scared of using cybernetics and robotics too much. That some hackers can kill by messing with implants doesn't help either. Besides, our medicine is advanced enough that we can grow organs and limbs for grafting, and we resort to cybernetics only when that's not an alternative."

"That's sensible," Shepard approved. "I was suggested an organic replacement for my arm, but it would have taken months."

"Oh. Well, who knows… if you had chosen that, maybe the First Contact War would have had a different outcome," Garrus jabbed amicably.

"I doubt it," Aaliyah replied with a smirk. "There were lots of good people fighting on our side then. Morrison, Zaryanova, Hana Song…"

The Turian nodded. "The original Overwatch team," he said respectfully.

Genji's heart swelled with pride when he noticed Vakarian's tone. "I see our reputation has transcended beyond Alliance borders."

"From this side, the Citadel thinks of your crew as the equivalent of the Spectres. I know that both the Salarian STG and the Asari commando teams hold you as worthy adversaries — which is no small feat."

"And what does the Hierarchy think?" Shepard asked.

"The same, with more resentment and fear thrown in," Garrus admitted. "In case you don't know, when the Hierarchy goes to war, our objectives are not limited to the conflict in particular. The ultimate goal is to make sure the adversary is never again a threat to Citadel interests, which is to say, to our interests."

Genji understood immediately. "If you had had your way you would have crushed us."

"Yes," Vakarian said freely. "You have to understand, the Hierarchy is a military juggernaut. Not even the Krogan stood up to us for long. That you did has scared people and bruised our collective ego."

 _That's something to remember,_ Aaliyah thought. She had already known that, however. Danaan's memories on the topic had been sobering.

* * *

Three hours later, Martinsson roused Shepard from her sleep: "Lady Doomfist, wake up. There's news."

Aaliyah groaned. "What's the crisis this time…?"

The blonde Astrid smirked. "Can't say you don't know your way around your job."

 _Just fucking great._ With an effort, she threw the covers aside. Two scant minutes later, still rubbing her eyes, she made her way to the combat information center, where Garrus, as acting CO, was already waiting. Danaan, Lena, Genji and the omnic engineers were there too.

"This just came in," Vakarian said curtly in the way of welcome. "It's keyed for your eyes only."

Shepard eyed him oddly and waited for the message to be retransmitted to her omni-tool. Then, before opening it, she took a look at the headers.

"We have a leak somewhere."

Garrus held a hand to his eyes, shaking his head. "Not  _one_ joint mission and we  _already_  have moles?"

"The message is keyed for me alright, but it's not from any Alliance personnel cleared for Compact stuff. Probably the sender itself is bogus." She glanced at Lumiscant. "The moment we're back on an Alliance port, fire up a CRITIC message to Hackett. He'll go nuts."

Then she opened the message. At first, she was puzzled — it was a star chart and the transcripts of some conversation. Those transcripts were superbly detailed, including grunts, coughs and comments depicting emotional states—

 _Shit!_ "Vakarian, you'll want to have a look at this." She forwarded the decrypted message back to him.

The Turian quickly scanned it, then raised his startled eyes to meet hers: "You think this is genuine?"

"It  _could_  be a very crafty piece of disinformation, but… who'd be out to expose us? And what would be the practical consequence, other than a diplomatic storm? I mean, no one would chase us to shoot our asses, right?"

"On our side, not with Spectre backing," Garrus mused. "How fresh do you think this is?"

"It would be nice if it was as fresh as it gets. But I wouldn't count on it," she manifested. "Can we send an alert?"

"It will have to go through channels," was the unconvinced answer. "I don't say they'll obstruct it on purpose, but in the short term, the only result would be that they'd raise their combat readiness. Backup… that could take a while."

"Once more unto the breach," Shepard muttered. "Brulirea, get us the shortest possible route there."

The omnic studied the chart and the location. "It won't be as quick as you'd like, ma'am. We have to jump through several relays to get there."

"Then let's just hope it's fast enough."

The rest of the crew present was watching apprehensively. "What's happening, luv?" Lena asked.

"Our friend resurfaced, that's what," Aaliyah answered gruffly. "And if I'm to trust these transcripts then someone else isn't quite dead."

Tracer frowned in puzzlement, then read the message:

"Wait, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be much longer, but I resolved to cut this part and post it now since the next one is almost pure action and this would be out of place.
> 
> Many thanks to BrokenLifeCycle, kishinokurobi and Callista for their input and help.


	20. Citadel: Mêlée à Quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old enemies meet again on a new battlefield.

Iera system - Attican Traverse

Wrex was inspecting his venerable Claymore shotgun for one last time. The battle-scarred Krogan grunted: "I never thought I'd be running to the rescue of some Turians."

Shepard eyed him apprehensively. "Me neither. 'War makes strange bedfellows,' the saying goes." The final check on both hardlight projectors returned 'all green' for the fourth time, so she put down the weapon on her right hand and stared at Wrex: "We are gambling by bringing you along for the ride."

The reptilian humanoid gave her an equally reptilian glare. "You would be stupid if you weren't at least a little bit concerned."

"That is not helping," Garrus muttered. He was methodically reassembling a large caliber anti-materiel rifle.

"You'll have to take your chances, 'sir.'" Only the sarcasm on his voice colored Wrex's blank expression.

"We're now entering the orbit of Iera III," Brulirea informed over the intercom.

"Inform me the moment we have a visual," Shepard ordered. "Tracer, start her up!"

"Aye, luv, on it."

The walls of the armory vibrated and a low rhythmic thunder became clearly audible as the engines of their shuttle screamed to life.

Garrus jammed a fresh thermal clip on his rifle and holstered it. "Even with the exact coordinates it will be very hard to locate the spot," he warned.

"Let's just hope it's equally hard for the enemy to locate it," Layali said dryly.

The troopers marched out of the armory one by one, but before Shepard left Garrus grabbed her by the shoulder:

"I need to know more about this guy if we're going to stop him."

Inwardly she groaned, but she could not refuse the request. "I'll tell everyone the same on our flight planetside. Guns are useless against him; so far nothing has stuck."

* * *

"And what are we supposed to use if guns won't put him down?" Wrex asked sardonically. "Harsh language?"

"What is he, by the way?" Valena seconded the Krogan. "Nothing I've ever seen is capable of what he does." The question puzzled Shepard briefly — then she realized she had asked it for the benefit of her fellows.

"Biotics affect him, just like they do to anyone not protected by shields," she replied uneasily. "Both Garrus and I saw one of those awful banshee cyborgs pin him that way."

"As to… what he is," Anika added haltingly, "not even we ourselves know. The best guess is that he was somehow transformed by the initial research my mother did on nanites, but exactly what happened…" She shook her blond head.

"What kind of nanites were those?" Shilu'Vael asked. "Organic or synthetic?"

"Synthetic. A very primitive form of what we use today on our Caduceus devices."

The veteran Krogan nodded heavily. "Well, I can work with that. But he won't be alone down there, or is he just that dangerous?"

"Yes, he is that dangerous, and no, he won't be alone," Tracer replied quietly from the pilot seat. "At least one sharpshooter is down there with him."

"Plus a team of specialists, including at least one close quarters fighter, a sapper, and a hacker," Layali finished.

"Supposing our intelligence is accurate and this is not a trap," Genji noted warily.

"If that is the case, we shouldn't expect to make planetfall."

Lumiscant looked at the Turian. "I'm surprised to see how unconcerned you are about it."

Garrus shrugged. "We are already here. What happens next is out of our hands."

 _Don't rule Tracer out,_  Shepard thought, but kept it to herself. The last thing their pilot needed was the extra burden on her.

For some reason she glanced at Anika.  _Was it wise to bring her along?_  Out of all the people there, she was the most valuable. For soldiers, a chance of violent death was part and parcel of the job, but, on top of a medic, she was a scientist.

"Brace for reentry," Lena warned mechanically. The shuttle started to shake violently. She gazed at the instruments, wrestling with the thick atmosphere of that planet, and hoping that nobody would pick that moment to shoot at them.

A warning message then lit up on her HUD: "Bloody hell… Vakarian," she asked, "would a Turian listening post actively track starships making for planetfall?"

"They wouldn't," was the immediately concerned answer. "Doing that would give them away."

"Well, someone is," she informed angrily. Then the warning message changed to a danger signal: "And whoever they are, they're pointing their guns our way."

A loud alarm then screeched out: "And now they're firing missiles at us!"

At once Layali released the clamps holding her flight suit securely to the bulkhead: "Heading and range?"

"Sent!"

Tracer's head was racing. The shuttle had barely been retrofitted with the MMI interface used by Alliance pilots to fly their craft, and the countermeasures available were those of a standard Citadel transport — in comparison, pitiful.

"Brulirea!" She barked.

"I'm on it." The ship had an EW suite, but there was nothing it could do that an AI could not do better.

"Everyone hold on and grab your barf bags!"

Warning lights turned on everywhere as Layali punched the manual override to open the boarding ramp. It did not budge. "You have to turn around!" she screamed at Tracer.

"We're still going too fast!" was the angry reply. "We need to descend to at least thirty thousand meters!"

"It's going to be one hell of a close call," Amari muttered with an edge.

"They're 91s," Lumiscant reported. "Trying to scramble."

"Score one for our intel source," Shepard breathed. The Mark 91 High Altitude Interceptor was a highly efficient, LAI-guided anti-voidcraft missile used specifically to repel targets on their reentry phase; Alliance doctrine called for their use as a backup for long-range direct energy guns or railguns — or as the to-go defensive weapon for short-time planetside deployments.

So unless the Turians had gotten their hands on Alliance ordnance, there was someone else down there.

"Someone clearly doesn't want anyone coming after them," Martinsson noted coolly. Other than trusting their pilot and her AI aides, there was nothing she could do.

At that point of their descent, there was little for Lena to do other than monitoring her instruments and hoping her omnic crew would succeed. For her fellows' sake. Like anyone else, she hated being shot at while she was flying, but in a coldly logical way — all pilots learned to control the primal terror that came with that, but in Tracer's case, there was nothing to struggle with.

She had reached a point where, regarding herself, death was a philosophical matter. If she lived, well, that was it. If she was killed now, she would get to see whether there actually was an afterlife or not…

But the people around her had no such luxuries.

_Someday, maybe someday soon. But not today._

"Girls, we need what you do now," she breathed with an edge at the omnics _._

"I almost got it, ma'am… yes. We have override," Lumiscant announced triumphantly. Below and ahead of them, bright dots appeared in the sky where the missiles self-destructed.

"Don't claim victory just yet." Amari had patched into the sensor feeds and caught the moment when two more missiles leaped upwards towards them, then two more. "Tracer!"

"One minute to safe altitude!"

* * *

Reaper watched the shuttle on his own omni-tool with mixed feelings, as it abruptly turned around to present its side to the incoming ordnance — and a tiny metal blue silhouette jumped out of the boarding ramp, to flare with twin dots of blinding light. Long steam trails streaked across the sky from this new silhouette and towards the missiles. Two big flashes erupted as they exploded.

_So that's who they are._

Angrily he killed the feed. Not only had they wasted their shots. That was not a fight he was looking forward to.

"Hold the missiles," he muttered at their artillery technician and sapper.

The big, blond, square-jawed man argued, "We can overwhelm them, sir, they can't have that much—"

"I said hold them." His voice became even lower — and even more menacing.

Next to them, Miranda Lawson looked on in conflict, but eventually she judged it best to support Reyes. "We may need the remaining missiles on the way out."

The man quailed before Reaper. "Sir."

They were on the bed of one of several dry streams that had cut deep into some rocks, creating a series of very tight, crevasse-like canyons. The streams had crossed path in several places, which they had marked as ideal emplacements for their anti-aircraft battery.

Reyes turned to the other members of the squad Cerberus had assigned him: besides Miranda and Richter, the sapper, there were Tomoe, a small, lean and exceptionally agile close quarters fighter, and Neves, their slicer, who for a hacker was surprisingly fit and spright. "Move the battery to site B," he ordered to the Brazilian. "I don't want them finding it and blowing it up."

Neves nodded in silence, jumped aboard the tracked vehicle, and drove off. The rest followed Reaper the other way through the canyon.

"You believe the Turians will react to the launches?" Lawson asked of Richter.

The sapper shook his head. "This is close to Alliance space. I would chalk it up to mercs or scavengers fighting over a hideout or minerals. They will be more alert, though."

A low thunder rumbled through the canyons. Three kilometers away, Amélie decided sending a warning was worth the interception risk: "They're coming this way."

Gabriel stopped and listened. Clearly the engine roar was growing louder.

He keyed his mike: "Neves, is that shuttle armed?"

"I don't think so, sir, it didn't look like it had been refitted to carry weapons," the answer came. "That's a Humpback, an old Turian design. Great for carrying troops, but no gunship."

A brief exchange of glances between Reyes and Miranda, and then Reaper keyed Widowmaker. "You know what to do."

Amélie rebelled at the idea, but Widowmaker prevailed.  _If they are misguided enough to render aid to the enemy, it's not my problem._

* * *

"We're closing in on the launch site," Lena informed.

"Most likely they're gone." Lumiscant was examining the terrain through the shuttle's sensor suite. "But they can't be far."

"Hiding a missile launcher on those canyons is child's play," Shepard muttered. "Still, that's our best bet."

Wrex scowled. "Tell me again why we aren't simply broadcasting an alert for your Turians to pick up."

"We are," Garrus replied. "But would you rely only on that?"

Brulirea borrowed Amari's eyes. The jumpjet trooper was slowing down her descent, using the jets on her flight suit as brakes, but her attention was on the same jumble of crevasses and canyons before the shuttle.

"Mind your approach, Layali," Anika warned her. She could not stop thinking about the dreaded sniper that had almost killed her friend's grandmother.

"Copy." Amari's response was curt but not as dry as usual. She knew Ziegler was worried, and Widowmaker was also on her mind. She was going about it as analytically as always, checking the wind, using the shuttle before and below her to mask her presence, all standard procedures—

* * *

—procedures her enemy was familiar with. Layali filled her sights, the muzzle pointed at her chest. Even at such an extreme range, the jumpjet trooper was dead to rights.

What bothered her was that the shot would expose her. Even if the active camouflage would compensate and cloak her again almost immediately, the geometry of the shot would make her position as obvious as if she was out in the open.

Which she was, by the way. With enough time she could reconnoiter the place, find a hideout close by to shelter in, but time was the one thing they had not had.

_How did they know?_

The threat posed by a mole was immense and there was only one way to know—asking them. To that end, killing the target now…

The sniper realized she was hesitating.

It was a sensation she had forgotten.

_Why?_

She scanned her target attentively. There was nothing exposed, not even the eyes. And yet she still saw the  _wedjat_  tattoo on the brown skin.

Again Amélie reasserted herself. Widowmaker struggled for control but failed.

* * *

The AI urgently flashed a danger signal and highlighted something on a small shrub-covered mesa. At once Layali realized she was being targeted and swiveled her railgun to bring it to bear—

—and her shot came out just as alarms started blinking and ringing, the impact sending her on a wild corkscrew spin: "MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY! I'm going in, I'm going in! MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY!"

* * *

There was a thunderous blast and a cloud of dust and splinters rose as the high-powered round missed Widowmaker by scarcely half a meter — the kinetic energy of the impact blowing her away from her vantage point and sending her in a free fall down into a chasm. She twisted in midair, fired her grappling hook at the closest wall, and steeled herself for the impact; her shields cushioned the blow, but it still was more than enough to knock her unconscious.

* * *

Both Brulirea and Lumiscant acted swiftly. The first patched into her suit and worked with the onboard AI to try and stabilize her, but the railgun slug had blasted outright through a rocket booster and a set of control thrusters, making that a difficult proposition at best.

"Where did that come from?" Shepard bellowed.

"I'm on it!" The second omnic engineer was triangulating the point of origin. "There!"

Danaan lifted the metal frame keeping her securely seated: "Bring us closer to her!"

Tracer did not object. She spun the shuttle around towards the out-of-control Layali.

The Asari commando hollered: "I need the side door open!"

"And expose yourself to the shooter?" Garrus protested.

"Unless she's got a jump pack she can't switch positions so fast, not to mention stay cloaked the whole bloody time!" Lena snapped. "Open the door!"

Anika looked in wonder, knowing what was going to happen — but never having witnessed it firsthand. As the door slid open, Valena turned ablaze with blue light, and a bubble radiated from her, quickly growing in size, until it was twice as big as the whole shuttle. Jaws clenched tight, the Asari stretched out a hand towards Amari, as if reaching out to grab her — and, in a quick motion, pulled her fist backwards. Layali was violently drawn towards the shuttle, herself wrapped in blue fire, until she was well within the protective sphere.

"I have her!" Danaan said painstakingly through gritted teeth.

Genji shouted, "Lena, put the craft down! Fast!"

* * *

Miranda queried Widowmaker's omni-tool. The video feed only showed a wall of naked rock. "Maartens? McMahon?"

"We're here, ma'am," the Dutchman replied. "We got a visual on Lacroix, but she's out cold."

"Is she wounded?" Reyes asked quietly.

"Doesn't seem to be, sir, at least not from here. Her readings are stable," McMahon answered. "The enemy has touched down about a klick away from us. It's ill-advised to attempt a rescue right now."

"Stay sharp," Miranda ordered. "If she doesn't come back to her senses soon wait until the enemy has moved on to rescue her. If they approach don't engage."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

"I'm fine. I'm fine, I tell you!" Angrily Layali tried to push Anika away.

Ziegler glared stonily at her patient. "Are we going about this again?"

It was far from the first time she had taken care of Amari. Oftentimes she refused any attention, especially since she had gotten cyberized — and always Anika had to remind her that the fact that her cybernetic body had a ton of redundancies built in did not mean that her few organic parts had not sustained damage.

So Layali's eyes blazed, but she did not lash out. "Alright, do your thing."

The rest of the crew watched but kept their distance, even Valena. Ziegler had helped Amari out of her wrecked flight suit, which Lumiscant the omnic engineer was working on. Outside of her suit, Layali was indistinguishable from a normal human, and strikingly similar to her mother and grandmother. Tracer always dwelt on that fact, but thankfully the youngest Amari was not like her ancestors to a point that would cause her issues. She was distinctly icy and biting in demeanor, but underneath all that there was a golden heart — one anyone wanting to reach would have to dig deep for.

Meanwhile, Garrus and Shepard studied the surrounding area using scans provided by their mothership. "I take it that no one acknowledged our broadcast," Aaliyah assumed matter-of-factly, and did not wait for a reply from her counterpart: "Vakarian, you're the Turian here. If someone ordered you to set up shop in this place, where would you do it?"

Garrus frowned. "There are no obvious buildings visible here… that means you go for portable cloaking field generators… or go underground… or you use a cave."

The Quarian girl overheard that. "If they had to broadcast their data we could use it to track them down."

"Give it a try, but I doubt it. Standard protocol for covert outposts is to relay reports via tightbeam to a satellite and thence to comm buoys."

"But they can't communicate with patrols and the like on the same way," Shilu'Vael argued. "Tightbeam requires a direct line of sight. It's almost impossible to maintain it on this kind of terrain."

"Supposing they had patrols in the first place, which I doubt in this case," Garrus retorted. "One way to avoid that problem is to set the transceiver on a vantage point with a good field of view, but yes, radios are kept as an emergency backup."

Wrex was watching from a distance, but everyone heard him snort. "Think like mercs or raiders. That's the kind of people who'd set foot here. And any of them would have a good escape plan."

Garrus and Shepard exchanged looks. "He's right," she admitted.

"I agree," Vakarian seconded. "So they would need a secluded place for a shuttle to land safely."

"That probably means here." Shepard pointed at a depression where a body of water had once been, next to a promontory that overlooked the surrounding landscape.

Garrus, Shilu'Vael and Wrex all looked at the spot. The Krogan shrugged. "As good a place to start as any."

* * *

"This is the spot," Miranda confirmed.

The sapper stepped forward and unslung his backpack from his shoulders. Everyone followed suit. The mission-critical gear was far smaller than the shuttle and the tracked missile launcher: a series of low-yield fusion charges.

Tomoe the close quarters fighter cloaked and silently made her way towards the dry lake bed near which they believed the entrance to the enemy compound would be. Neves was still with their anti-aircraft battery and was keeping an eye on the area using a small satellite deployed beforehand to that end.

Miranda and Reaper stood close to their sapper. "It's a sure thing they heard the broadcast," Richter commented. "Now we just have to see what they're going to do about it."

"Expect a visit," Reaper replied quietly. If they had deployed passive surveillance —and most likely they had, Turians were professional to a fault—, they could not miss the squad about to deploy an explosive charge to blast a way into their outpost. The enemy shuttle had searched the area around them a few times, but so far they had not found them.

Or maybe they had and they were heading for an ambush.

And so the alert did not surprise him: "I got movement," Neves reported quietly. "Turian squad, half platoon strength, heading one-zero-nine, distance sixteen hundred meters. Hustling your way."

Miranda keyed her mike: "Team-2, status."

"I'm on my way to your position, ETA 3 minutes," came Maartens' reply. "McMahon is attempting to recover Lacroix."

"Neves, is there anything else I should know?" Reaper asked dryly.

"The enemy shuttle has landed about a klick from your position, bearing one-one-one. No enemy personnel visible."

 _They have made contact,_  Reyes concluded coldly. This complicated matters. He did not want to fight his old enemies, but he had a mission to accomplish.

* * *

Garrus warned quietly, "Everyone stay calm. Nice and easy now."

Reaper's assumption was inaccurate, but by a slim margin, and it would soon be correct. Half a dozen troopers, all in cover and on diverse positions encircling the shuttle on the depression, uncloaked at once.

All in cover except for the one in front of them. The Turian glared at the newcomers from behind the sights of his assault rifle. "Identify."

Vakarian took one step forward. "I'm Garrus Vakarian, adjutant and operative in the service of Nihlus Kryik, Special Tactics and Recon. My fellows are Valena Danaan, my colleague under Tela Vasir, and colonel Aaliyah Shepard from Starwatch, Systems Alliance."

After a few instants, the trooper facing them relaxed and untrained his weapon. "Avitus Rix. I didn't know Nihlus was conducting joint operations with the Alliance." The biting edge on his words communicated what he thought about it loudly and clearly to everyone.

Garrus tilted his head slightly sideways. "If you know Nihlus, you are aware he tends to go for unorthodox methods."

Rix scowled. "State your business. You've already ruined our operation by landing here so forgive me if I don't sound welcoming."

Now it was Aaliyah who spoke. "We're working together to unmask the party responsible for the attack on Elysium. Some extremist elements on our side have planned an attack on your listening post. We were forewarned and came here to stop it."

The Turian looked stonily at her. "Generous of you. But we don't need your 'help.' And you're too late in any case. My men are closing in on the intruders as we speak."

Aaliyah's blood chilled. "How many men have you got? And how many are they?"

"You don't need that information."

"No, you're right, I don't, but you do. I have reason to believe you don't know what you're up against."

Rix kept his cold eyes on Shepard, then glanced momentarily at her Asari and Turian fellows.

"You would be wise to listen to her," Danaan said simply.

* * *

Maartens waited until the head of the trooper lugging the grenade launcher had filled his sights to pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked his shoulder, and immediately he ducked into cover, not waiting to confirm his kill — and it served him in good stead, because almost instantly the thunder of a large caliber rifle boomed and a slug narrowly missed his scalp.

Quickly he inspected the recording of his scope and declared his shot: "Enemy trooper down. I'm pinned down here."

"I got a fix on them," Tomoe spoke. She was on the rear of the enemy squad, watching them maneuver. The shooter that had almost gotten Maartens was perched on a high point herself: "Two-man sniper team. Engaging."

At that time, automatic fire exploded on the gorge as Reaper broke cover and raked the enemy ranks with submachine gun fire. The hail of bullets sent rock splinters everywhere. The Turians, startled by the sniper, had dug in; they returned fire accurately, but as Shepard predicted, they were unaware about the nature of their adversary.

The heavy rifle boomed again, piercing Reaper's smoky form — the distraction giving Tomoe a perfect opening. Cerberus close quarters specialists were codenamed Phantoms, trained and equipped to do exactly what the woman did: somersault to the enemy position while cloaked, stab one of the shooters, fire a pistol point-blank at the other, and slink away—

—but one of their comrades saw her and shouted a warning. Another swiveled around, spotted the exposed Tomoe and took aim—

—only to have his arm torn off by Maartens' shot—

—who had risked too much to save the Phantom. A short burst transfixed him, punching his shoulder and lower neck, and blasting his helmet to pieces. Neves alerted: "Maartens is down!"

Reaper did not acknowledge the warning. He simply stood up and walked towards the enemy troopers, firing as he did. The weapons —aptly named Locusts by their manufacturer— were unusually docile and precise for small arms, making short work of a Turian that had done what he had been trained to do — expose the least possible, take good aim, and shoot, except that this enemy could not be felled by means of gunfire. Another one followed suit seconds later.

Tomoe seized the distraction to finish what she had started. She waited, cloaked, while the shooters relocated to put distance between themselves and Reaper, then struck at them as they ran right in front of her — with better luck this time, as it took only two vicious stabs to put them down.

The remaining troopers quickly saw they could not win that fight, and disengaged — or tried to. Reyes shifted into a smoky cloud and consumed one of them, down to the metal plates on his skin, then another, and was merely content with disabling the other two, so he could grab one by the collar of his armor and lift him off the floor—

That was familiar. The stark terror in those eyes. He had seen it before. But on human faces, not alien ones. It was an odd moment for Sombra's words to haunt him…

_Their problem. They struck first. So now reckoning has come, too bad for you._

"Tell me where the entrance to your base is, and I  _may_  let you live."

In the meantime, Tomoe was treating Maartens. To her immense relief, the helmet's many layers of armor had absorbed the shot that would had otherwise gone straight under his right eye. The combination of shields, armor and shock-absorbing vests had saved the sniper.

"It was foolhardy, what you did," the Phantom said as she examined the bruises. "Hold on. It'll improve in a while." Tomoe pulled out a syrette from her first aid kit and stabbed it on the sniper's naked and bruised shoulder.

Almost on the spot, Maartens' strained face relaxed. "Thank you."

The dour girl accepted it with a perfunctory nod. "No. Thank  _you_."

Reyes watched the man stand up ungainly, and queried the member of Team-2 who had remained behind to rescue Lacroix. "Report."

"I got her, sir," came the answer. "She's got a concussion. I'm seeing to it now."

The masked assassin nodded to himself. "Keeping her safe is your first priority. We will manage here."

"Sir," Neves cut in urgently, "we have more ships on a reentry vector. ETA 8 minutes."

"How many of them?"

"Six, sir."

Behind his mask, Reaper scowled.  _Too many for our remaining load. Supposing they fare better than the ones we already fired._  "Hold your fire," he instructed, then looked at Richter: "Get those charges placed. We're running out of time here."

* * *

The thunder of a detonation roared, and tons of rock rained down on the cavern floor below. Immediately afterward, a spherical recon droid was thrown down through the newly made crevasse.

Richter gave his verdict: "It's all clear, though most likely we've set off every alarm on kilometers around."

"They would hear it in any case. Let's go."

Reaper simply jumped down, followed by Tomoe first and by Richter later, with Maartens keeping them covered from the ceiling, hanging upside-down from a grappling hook. The cavern was roughly fifteen meters wide at its broadest point and a depot of some kind, stacked with crates and containers, warning lights set on the walls. A metal door was set on the end of a roughly hewn passageway.

Leapfrogging between covers, they first made their way to the wall on which the passageway had been dug. Maartens rappelled down then, and once she had a vantage position to snipe at whatever got that door open, they approached it. It was securely locked.

"Neves, we're patching you through," Tomoe notified the slicer.

"Roger. It will be a few seconds."

True to his word, the door hissed as the locking mechanisms disengaged and it opened inwards a few seconds later. It led into another freshly dug passageway, fluorescent lights lining both sides at even intervals. Doors were set at both ends. Reaper looked left, then right, noticed where the cables powering the lights led…

Reyes frowned behind his mask. "Something isn't right here."

Lawson agreed. "We're being expected. Turians aren't so careless."

"You stay put." Reaper strode into the corridor and walked towards the left door. If there was an ideal place to contain an assault, this was it: a completely naked passageway without cover of any kind.

This hunch was proven right as the door behind him slid open and a hail of gunfire raked him. He turned on his heel and raced towards the shooters, weapons in hand; the Turians fired with abandon at him, but seeing that he still was coming, eventually sealed the door shut again.

"Get the other door," he ordered to the others, and shifted into a cloud again, looking for miniature spaces to slip through, but the door was hermetically sealed—

—but it unexpectedly slid open, and he found himself trapped into the pull of a black coruscating orb. Three of the aliens rained hot plasma and more biotic attacks on him, causing the orb to spectacularly detonate — and his form to melt away into smoke.

"Reyes is injured," Miranda coolly warned the others. "Tomoe, get those specialists. Richter and I will cover you."

The sapper opened up in a barrage with his assault rifle to keep the defenders away from the doorway, giving the Cerberus officer an opening to create a singularity of her own where Reaper had been. One of the defenders was caught on its pull, and the sapper used the chance to toss a sphere down the corridor — and it grew in size until it became a giant hardlight sphere that barreled down the passageway, shredding the hapless Turian to gibs.

Right behind the sphere charged the cloaked Phantom, but another of the avian humanoids spotted the blur and shouted a warning before unleashing an electrical discharge. Tomoe was caught in full by the blast, ruining her stealth and shorting out her shields — but still full of adrenaline, she willed a hardlight whip and an omni-blade into existence and hurled herself at her assailant, the Turian following suit. What should have been a quick dispatching of the foe devolved into a chaotic melee as the Phantom and the alien defender pitted themselves against each other. Lawson and Richter pressed the attack, the latter firing her his rifle and the former casting her biotics at the other Turians to keep them from smoking the Phantom—

Reaper reformed near Miranda. She noticed him by the corner of her eye, too focused on her onslaught to afford a distraction; he looked as if he was only partially solid—

—but then, something happened that  _did_  merit her attention: the door on the other end of the hallway opened, and the Cerberus officer found herself staring into Tracer's eyes.

* * *

Lena recognised Reaper's half-solid form: "There they are!"

Genji charged ahead. Miranda pulled back into the passageway through which they had entered the base — but not fast enough. The ninja literally whizzed past her, the edge of his blade almost biting through her armor and its butt striking Richter viciously on the back of his head. The matter that the sapper was at least twenty centimeters taller than Genji and proportionally bulkier did not stop him from being smashed against the wall by the force of the hit.

Miranda rolled away from the ninja, blazed blue, stretched out a hand at him, and pulled hard. The biotic projection yanked Genji like a ragdoll towards the Cerberus officer, who at once tossed another bolt of blue at him. The blast sent him flying away, but he deftly twisted in midair and instead of being smashed against the other end of the corridor, he landed with both feet on the wall, pounced forward like a spring, and again darted forward at her. Now, however, Lawson waited, keeping a sliver of her mind focused on Tracer and Reaper as they dueled, and timed her backlash defense perfectly: there was no time for Genji to react and he crashed headfirst into her barrier, to end up being ricocheted away like a pinball.

But Miranda was not up against the Starwatch agents alone. Behind the ninja came charging a screaming hulk of red, scales and teeth. She saw the Krogan coming and hurled a dart-like attack at him; the biotic lance caused him to flinch, but nothing else, and he riposted with a blast of his own. Her barriers absorbed it, but the huge alien kept on coming. Two trigger pulls caused her defense to short out just before he crashed onto her: the impact sent her flying — right into Genji's way. The ninja caught her before she hit the ground, and had her head immediately on a vise.

Reyes saw this, noticed Danaan's and Shepard's figures coming through the doorway, and quickly realized they were outmatched and cornered. He could still turn into smoke, but the Asari would see him coming and neutralizing him would not be a challenge for a biotics specialist and a hardlight engineer. He coldly resigned himself and dropped his weapons. "You win."

Tracer's reaction was one of stunned suspicion. "Bollocks. Where are your blokes?"

"If they were here they'd have found you already."

Tomoe was still full of fight and holding her own against the three Turians around her, but the defender she was fighting was stubbornly skilled, and now she was alone and without backup. She bowed to the inevitable, jumped out of the fray and raised her hands in surrender.

Rix acknowledged this and gestured at his fellows to disarm her. Then he headed to the corridor where the Starwatch crew had subdued the rest of the Cerberus hit squad.

"You were right," he said simply to Shepard.

She accepted this with a nod. "I wish I wasn't." Her mind was focused on something totally different right now, and on the effort it took to conceal it:  _a *HUMAN* biotic?! Just where did she come from?!_ She noticed the attentive looks Miranda was getting from the Citadel personnel there and realized they were equally surprised.

"I'll make it a point to listen to your advice, even if I don't end up following it." Then he turned to the attackers. "I don't know who you are or what you hoped to do here. But you, know this. I myself handpicked and trained the troopers you killed. That makes me a  _very angry_ Spectre right now. So don't give me any more reasons. Talk."

Then the first rumbling tremors reached them. At once Rix's omni-tool chirped urgently: "Sir! We got more incoming hostiles!"

Tracer glared icily at Reaper. "So there they were."

The man raised his hands very slowly, under the irate gaze of both Alliance and Citadel troopers, and removed his mask. Now not Reaper but the gruff Gabriel Reyes instead, he denied: "We only had one shuttle."

At Garrus' gesture, Danaan blazed blue, her right fist clenched tight and almost white hot. "This is not the time for lying."

He turned to face the Asari, unafraid. And laughed insolently. "If that's supposed to be a threat, you will have to do a lot better." Then he stared in challenge, baiting her. "Go on. You think that will change my tune?"

"Where is she?" Anika asked. "Where is Amélie?"

Reyes' face softened almost imperceptibly. The younger Mercy was a spitting image of her mother.

"She was hurt," he answered. "Your friend almost got her with her shot." He felt the sudden and unexplainable impulse to add that Widowmaker could have killed her easily if she had wanted to, but he stopped himself.  _Who would believe it?_

Then Miranda's own omni-tool vibrated.

Genji noticed it. "Answer it," he ordered quietly. He did not have to add what would happen if she tried to trick them.

Miranda acknowledged the implied threat with her eyes, then: "Maartens?"

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

She interrogated her captor with a glare but he made no gesture. "We've made contact with the defenders," she said neutrally. "What's going on out there?"

"I see two — no, scratch that, three gunships, ma'am, and three shuttles unloading troops about half a klick from the main entrance. I estimate they're fifty men, say again, five-zero men."

"Identity?"

"They're… not Alliance forces, ma'am. I see Salarians and Turians… and… ma'am, there are humans among them too."

Miranda's eyes bulged briefly in surprise. "Where are McMahon and Lacroix?"

"On cover, ma'am, watching out for our ride and the battery."

"Get Team-2 in position to support extraction," she ordered. "Stand by for further orders."

"Roger."

She closed the channel. "You are very optimistic about your chances," Rix noted with cold irony.

Miranda returned his glare, unafraid, despite her precarious position. "You have, at most, ten troopers, which added to the Starwatch squad could perhaps total twenty. A single platoon, with no heavy weapons to speak of, cornered inside your own installation, against two, maybe three times as many, plus air cover. Whether you could survive or not depends largely on the goals of your enemy. If they aren't interested in taking prisoners they could simply saturate the area with low-yield ordnance." She made a brief pause for effect, then added, looking at the rest as she spoke: "I have a team of three snipers hiding in those hills, plus a SAM battery. If we play our cards well we could all leave this place."

"And you would walk away free for your assistance."

"I didn't pretend to set terms beforehand," was her cool retort to Rix's quip. "What you do with us you can decide later. Right now you cannot afford to refuse our help. And we cannot afford not to offer it."

Garrus was not convinced. "What guarantees your assassin won't try to smoke us out the moment the threat is dealt with?"

Reyes replied icily, "I could have killed you back in those mines. You're still breathing. Think."

Wrex grunted his contempt. "Less talking, more shooting. The more we spend here yammering, the harder it will be to fight our way out."

Vakarian, Rix and Danaan exchanged glances. Finally the Asari turned to Shepard. "The Krogan has a point."

"I agree," Aaliyah said forcefully. "Release them."

Uneasily Genji let go of Miranda. The Cerberus officer rubbed her neck for a second, then nodded. "Those gunships must be dealt with if we're to break out of here. I propose using our sharpshooter team to bait them into a trap. Our SAM battery will take them out."

"If you have -91s, it will have to be perfectly timed," the Starwatch commander objected coolly, trying to balance her healthy suspicions of this woman with the need to work together. "Those things aren't meant to engage low-flying targets."

Shilu'Vael had not taken part in the engagement, but she intervened now: "Why not call our ship down from orbit? Surely it's got guns enough to swat them."

Garrus thought about it. "The closer they get to it, the harder it will be. What kind of gunships are those?"

Rix sent a few queries and got a response on his omni-tool. "Mantis gunships."

Vakarian swore. "Fabulous. Those things can run circles around a corvette." He queried the omnic engineers: "Lumiscant? What about our shuttle? Is it safe?"

"For the time being," came the reply. "We've almost finished repairing Amari's suit."

Miranda stared without blinking. "A corvette."

"A Lancer-class," Garrus clarified, as coolly as Shepard.

"They're not that good against atmospheric craft," Rix mused. "We need to create a distraction."

Shepard considered this. "Oxton and Shimada are the best ones we got to that end. He… Reyes is also perfect for the task. Amari could provide backup."

"Also her." The Turian Spectre pointed at the lean, wiry Cerberus Phantom. Tomoe stared back.

"Ahem." Wrex cleared his throat and looked on with a vicious gleam in his eye.

Miranda could not object. She tapped her omni-tool: "Sending the keys to our channels now."

Still reluctantly, Shepard nodded. "Alright. Let's get this moving."

* * *

Amélie gave a slow, methodical look around the cranny she had chosen. It overlooked the empty lake bed and had a direct view to the crevasse leading into the caves where the Turians had established their outpost. To her right, on the other side of the depression, the attackers were streaming out of another defile and running to set up positions around the crevasse. She could not see the gunships, but the rhythmic cadence of their engines echoed against the rocks.

" _Je suis en position,_ " she reported quietly.

"Roger that," a female voice she did not know acknowledged her. "Do you have visual on the raiders?"

" _Affirmatif._ They are setting up positions around the entrance."

"Any heavy weapons visible?"

A quick glance was enough. "Portable mass accelerator cannons and missile launchers."

An alien voice spoke on the channel then. Her translator processed it: "That should be enough."

"Team-2, listen up," Miranda commanded. "Friendlies will create a distraction so we can seize these weapons and shoot down the gunships. Your primary task is to support the fireteams in charge of capturing the weapons, but feel free to engage targets going after the diversionary strike force if needs be. Watch your fire."

"Understood."

"Acknowledged."

" _Compris._ "

Widowmaker briefly wondered how they planned to break out. The raiders —who were they?— were setting up a formidable perimeter. She had already selected her first targets, and painted them on their private squad network for the benefit of her fellow snipers: the enemy sharpshooters would have to go first, followed by any trooper displaying biotics.

What they wanted with the place, she could not tell either, but clearly they were after something inside, for they had enough combined firepower to simply collapse the caves themselves. She relayed this observation to Miranda while a part of her mind struggled to understand. How her squad and the 'friendlies' planned to break out eluded Amélie. Turians were notoriously difficult to deceive with cloaking technology, which was pretty much the only way to approach the enemy undetected right now—

A bolt of trailing light zapped out of the gorge leading to the Turian stronghold, then in incredibly fast succession jumped all over the dry lake bed. The raiders, caught by surprise, dove for cover, probably thinking of it as a rare biotic attack, but as the bolt whizzed past a trooper manning a missile launcher, there was the buzzsaw-like sound of high-velocity automatic fire, and the trooper's head turned to mush.

The sniper reacted without so much as a knowing half-smile. Her sights centered on one of her original targets, a sharpshooter struggling to acquire whoever was attacking them, and she pulled the trigger. Automatically she switched to another target as she heard her teammates firing on their own.

The attackers erupted in chaos, and at that moment a black, billowing cloud emerged from the gorge as Reaper moved in to join the fray. Quickly she scanned the battlefield for blue flashes, but Tracer —for it was her, who else could move that fast?— also was looking for that, and Amélie had just acquired and sighted a biotic when Lena blazed right past her target, leaving a leaky mess of a corpse behind.

The raiders struggled to react, and the Cerberus sniper team used the opportunity to relocate, for the rhythmic sounds of the gunships were getting closer now and they would appear at any moment. Enemy shock troopers charged at Tracer, leaving trails of blue-white light and smoke behind them, but they failed to connect; still, those shock troopers were too sturdy for her machine pistols to bring down in one burst, but Reaper came behind her. The raider forces retreated from their defensive positions around the gorge, seeking shelter on the nearby canyons.

Some did not reach that shelter. As Tracer and Reaper ravaged the enemy infantry, Shimada and Tomoe used the opportunity to cut down the troopers lugging the heavy weapons they were after. "Objective is secure," the Phantom reported.

"That's our call, people! Let's get out there!" Shepard hollered, and after activating her squad-shield she exited the tunnels and entered the gorge leading to the dry lake bed. Rix, Wrex, Garrus, Valena, Martinsson and Miranda lined up behind her.

"Enemy gunship approaching fast from your side!" McMahon alerted over the radio.

"Team-2, focus your fire on it," Lawson ordered on the spot.

" _Affirmatif,_ " Widowmaker acknowledged coolly. It was one thing to shoot foot soldiers. Disabling or bringing down a gunship with sniper fire was another whole can of worms. A mental command brought up an image of the battlefield on her visor, the positions of friendlies and enemies marked on it. She noted where her fellow sharpshooters were and ordered: "McMahon and Maartens, fire at the tail thrusters. Coordinate for exposure." This maneuver was used, as Lacroix had said, to expose weak points in targets: whoever shot last had to wait until the gunship had turned to face the first shooter.

Regrettably, one battlefield maxim stated that the enemy should never be expected to cooperate in the creation of the ideal engagement, and its ugly wisdom was proved right again this time. As the Mantis gunship hovered over the gorge, it pivoted to bring its guns to bear on Shepard's squad, and as it did it briefly exposed its tail thrusters to McMahon, who took the chance on the spot and fired a high-powered round at it. The shot blew right through the thruster in a blast of smoke and shrapnel, but the gunship crew disregarded the damage to pound at their target.

Being deep in the gullet of the gorge meant Shepard and her team were difficult but not impossible to hit, and her squad-shield could only defend from a Gatling gun for so long. "We're fish in a barrel here!"

Martinsson ran to lend the strength of her generator to that of her commander's, but it was clear it would not suffice. Garrus took aim, targeted the cycling barrels spitting slugs at them, and fired. As with all Turian guns, his rifle was more powerful and refined than that of the human shooter, and it made short work of the gun mechanism — causing the gunship to switch to firing its rockets at them. Both Miranda and Valena saw this coming and raised bubble-like barriers to meet the attack, but even the might of their combined defenses was not enough to stop the barrage. Both shields collapsed and one rocket slipped through — exploding to devastating effect on the cramped quarters of the gorge. Shilu'Vael's left arm and leg were blown away.

"The Quarian is down! Mercy!"

Wrex slung the screaming girl over his shoulder and retreated back to the tunnel entrance, where Ziegler at once got to work on trying to stabilize her — which was no easy task since Caduceus nanites were nowhere nearly as efficient on organisms with different chirality and medi-gel was a big no-no.

Miranda winced and blinked to clear her eyes from the blinding pain, the feedback from her collapsed barrier nearly overpowering her. "We can't protect again against that kind of firepower!"

Lacroix and Maartens fired again — Widowmaker targeting the main air intake and her colleague the other thruster. The shots were more effective this time around. Deprived of both fine control thrusters and with one of its two engines compromised, the gunship could now only take aim with difficulty, and struggled to remain in position — and, in doing so, it presented a perfect target for Tomoe, who, protected by the rest of the flankers, had maneuvered a mass accelerator cannon into position and taken aim. The hundred-gram iron-tungsten slug was meant to wreck tanks, and treated the gunship's meager armor with contempt. The flyer exploded in midair.

"Apologies, ma'am, we did as fast as we could," the Phantom reported with worry.

"I don't know who you are, but you've just earned our grudging respect," Shepard said through her teeth. She was crouched by Shilu'Vael's side. The Quarian was a bloody mess.

"We need to get her to the ship ASAP," Mercy said, anger in her words.

Rix crouched next to them. "There is only one thing we can do for her here." He gestured at his own medical officer, who ran inside the base and came back with a hovering cylinder. A stasis pod.

"This should keep her stable for a few days," the medic informed.

"Better than we can do ourselves…"

"Lumiscant, we've taken casualties from a Mantis here." Shepard did not need to add what would happen if the other two gunships engaged them.

"The ship is on reentry vector right now, ma'am. ETA 9 minutes."

 _We don't have 9 minutes._ "Too long."

"I'll get you time, ma'am," Layali's voice cut in. "I'm airborne and loaded for bear. Give me targets."

"God bless you, Amari," Shepard exclaimed with audible relief. "Get your ass over here. Tracer and Reaper, keep that infantry busy."

"Roger."

"Aye, luv."

"Alright."

The jumpjet trooper's arrival was crucial in timing, for the other two gunships were now closing in. One of them noticed Shimada and Tomoe maneuvering the gun that had disposed of the Mantis they had just destroyed, while the other appeared poised to continue pounding at Shepard's position.

At once Amari went after the second one. The gunship crew saw her coming and opened up on her while moving to evade, but this was a problem Layali had exercised hundreds of times — and one she had dealt with in practice no few times either. She weaved and dodged to avoid the autocannon firing at her, and climbed until she was outside the gun's traversal range; the gunship pilot, aware of the hazard of being exposed to fire from above, tried to disengage, but the Mantis, however nimble and powerful, could not compete with Layali's suit in terms of agility, and while it was too well protected for her to bring down with her railgun, it was not so that she could not cripple it: four rounds and the control thrusters were blown to pieces. The gunship swerved at the sudden loss of balance and the crew tried to regain control, but without success. The craft hit the ground like a rock.

Whoever was in charge of the raid saw that and noticed which way the wind was blowing, for the last gunship at once withdrew from its attack position and moved to shield the raiders as they pulled back.

"They're retreating," Lacroix reported.

"We've got them on the run," Garrus say in relief. "Good work."

"Not without cost," Shepard mused.

Rix turned to face her. "Remind me never to pick a fight with you."

"They're the best we got," Aaliyah replied with a small measure of pride.

"Now, we should investigate what was it that everyone was after. And how did they know of this place."

The Starwatch commander keyed her mike. "People, get me some prisoners."

"Acknowledged," came Reyes' reply, and with that he unwittingly brought to the fore another question — what to do with Miranda's group.

"ETA for the corvette?"

"6 minutes, ma'am," came Brulirea's reply.

Lawson looked on with guarded expectation, knowing that the time for bargaining had come, and that extricating themselves from their unappealing position would be a thorny affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to BrokenLifeCycle and kishinokurobi for proofreading, ideas and occasionally playing Devil's Advocate.
> 
> Maxim #47 of Schlock Mercenary's Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries was quoted verbatim in this chapter.
> 
> Apologies but my French is very elementary. If I screwed up somewhere, feel free to bludgeon me over it.


	21. Citadel: Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Compact travels to another Prothean dig site hoping to anticipate Benezia.

Cronos Station

It was a brief sentence, just two words. They reached Sombra before showing up in one of her screens:

_Well done._

* * *

"You knew I was going to leak that."

"In all honesty? No, I didn't." The man with the strange eyes put the cigar to his lips, then exhaled a puff of smoke. "I'm glad that gamble paid off."

Sombra glared at him.  _Mal hecho, señor. Why didn't you bring me into the plot… Oh._ "You wanted to have your hands clean,  _¿verdad?_ "

A nod. "You know I have sponsors. They were demanding a reprisal, even though I told them it was not the best of ideas."

"So you let me know." The dark-skinned girl crossed her arms. " _¿Y valió la pena?_  You paid a high price for it."

"The results will eventually percolate through Alliance command, so they will learn about it from their own sources. Regarding the agents, we can get them released if necessary."

Sombra tilted her head slightly sideways with a frown. "But having inside people on the Compact can't hurt." Her glare became piercing. "You're playing with fire.  _Lo sabes, ¿verdad?_  One tiny screw-up and the first attempt at working together goes down in flames."

The man was unfazed. "Who are you talking about?" he asked rhetorically. "The Compact? Or us?"

* * *

Knossos system - Artemis Tau cluster

"You're not being cooperative."

"I don't understand. I've answered your every question."

"Do you really expect me to believe that you naturally came to be a biotic?"

This scene had already played out before. Shepard knew what Miranda was going to say, down to the letter.

"That we are in your ship," the brunette woman began, "is in part our own decision. You've noted yourself it was more convenient for us to be interrogated back at Erinyes station. We really are on your side, colonel. There is information I'm in no position to divulge. If you lean on us too hard, it is of little difficulty for my employer to arrange our extraction."

They stared at each other for some good fifteen seconds, but Miranda was unyielding. She did not even bother playing the blinking game, merely returning Shepard's glare with empty eyes.

Aaliyah left the cell in frustration. The woman watched her go.

Garrus eyed her. "Still nothing new?"

"It's like trying to squeeze water from a rock."

Since the incident at Iera, they had questioned Miranda's squad again and again and again. The responses had always been the same: they were hired operatives working for Hades Security.

"That woman really grinds my gears," Shepard fumed. "She knows Erinyes station by name! Her employer can easily break her out? Just who the hell does she work for? What have we got on Hades Security?"

"It's legit and real," Martinsson answered neutrally. "They work the border worlds and the Traverse. They're military contractors — they play cops on some frontier settlements, guard mining developments, escort convoys, and occasionally chase bounties. Other than that, they're a complete nonentity. They pay their taxes, inspections never turn up anything, and there hasn't been a single episode on the media involving them."

"Well, this one would be a first… if it ever became public," Aaliyah growled. "Where's their HQ? I think it's a dead end, but paying them a visit wouldn't hurt."

"They're based on Benning. They don't have much of a reputation there, though — they simply don't cause any stirs."

A shrug. They still had slightly over an hour before they reached Therum. An Alliance patrol was already in place to watch for unknown ships attempting to make planetfall, but no activity had been yet reported.

"So much for making progress on something on the way," Aaliyah said morosely. The other agents had been similarly tight-lipped.

She moved on to the next cells. On one, Anika was interrogating the blue-skinned Widowmaker. On the other, Reaper had removed his great overcoat and mask, and was vigorously exercising.

' _We are on your side,' that bitch said. Hard to see HIM on my side._

Garrus noted Shepard's hesitation. "You're evading this man."

She bristled at the comment, but held herself back and breathed deeply before replying. "I… don't know. He murdered my entire squad all those years ago… but every time we've crossed paths ever since he's turned things around in our favor."

The Turian snorted. "Can't argue with that." The callous remark still echoed in his head:  _I could have killed you in those mines. You're still breathing._  Not only that, but this Reaper had also saved his life down on those shafts in Pokhara.

Aaliyah turned to Astrid. "Tell me I'm not nuts."

Martinsson was uneasy. "Almost everyone would say you're actually excusing the worst terrorist and murderer of the century. But then again… almost no one knows all the facts."

Shepard snorted. "That helps a lot."

"Colonel, another ship is inbound and heading towards Therum," the Mercy AI informed urgently.

"We'll take it." Once again Aaliyah blessed being back on a ship of Alliance make, even if it was just an upgunned civilian corvette. They had obtained it from another private security contractor and mildly tuned it; as no one had suggested anything, Astrid had jokingly proposed to name it  _Girls' Night Out_ , as an oblique reference to her predominantly feminine crew —and, with such a name, who was going to guess it was in use by a black ops group?—, and it had stuck.

They entered the bridge to find the target ship depicted on the hologram projector that dominated the CIC.

"Identification positive. She's the SSV  _Miramar,_  a Javelis class destroyer." Then, after a second, Mercy added: "They're hailing us."

"On screen." Both Garrus and Shepard harbored the same ugly thought:  _the last thing we need is the Citadel somehow co-opting an Alliance vessel._

_Unless,_  Aaliyah thought on her own,  _these are the goons coming to break the bitch out._

The projector shifted to display the visage of a man in uniform. "This is commander Rodimtsev aboard the SSV  _Miramar._ Identify yourselves and state your intended course."

Astrid looked at Shepard, who nodded. "This is first officer Steinsvaag aboard the  _Girls' Night Out._  I am operating this vessel on behalf of the Fortaleza corporation. We intend to land on Therum."

The officer's face did not change. "What's your intended business on Therum? Fortaleza crews are rarely seen on these parts."

"We've been hired by Hahne-Kedar to escort a shipment of refined metals to Mars. You can contact them at their Nova Yekaterinburg office for confirmation."

They saw Rodimtsev turn around and hear the report from his crew. At length, he nodded. "Your contract seems to be in order. You will have to wait for your client for six standard hours. Currently Therum is under lockdown."

Shepard's mouth twitched.  _Fuck._

Martinsson continued: " _Miramar,_ we need to resupply. We did not account for a six-hour delay to land. As there are no neighboring support facilities, we request permission to land under guard."

"Permission is refused. We are under orders to hold every ship from landing until the lockdown is lifted by authorities planetside. State the nature of your needs."

Shepard keyed her mike. "Commander Rodimtsev, this is colonel Aaliyah Shepard from Starwatch, serial number two-eight-one-zero-nine-five-three-five, authentication code MORNINGSTAR. I am countermanding all of your orders. Stand down and allow our mission to proceed unimpeded."

The man's expression turned dour, but he acquiesced — much to Shepard's relief: "Acknowledged, colonel. Be advised, the starport at Nova Yekaterinburg is not allowing any craft to depart or land. Reasons unknown."

"The warning is appreciated," Aaliyah thanked him. "We have a team down on the surface who can find out more about it. Join SSV  _Bayern_ on the other side of the planet and stand ready to provide support. We'll keep you posted."

"Understood."

She keyed Mercy next: "Raise Dr. T'Soni's security detail on Therum. Inform them that it's highly likely that there are hostile elements going their way."

"Yes, Shepard."

Anika entered the bridge. "What did I miss?"

"Benezia's agents are already raising hell planetside," was the gruff response.  _Well, we kind of saw it coming, didn't we? Nobody was going to sit on their thumbs while we crossed half the galaxy to save Rix and his crew…_  "I take it that you didn't find out anything new."

"No new intel, regrettably," she admitted. "I took my time to check her vitals again. Talon… she's been so thoroughly butchered that a totally different baseline is necessary to determine whether she's healthy. She was very cooperative, I must say."

Shepard had a moment to think of Tracer and Genji: "I was expecting someone to pay her a visit."

"So was I. Considering their history, I expected Lena to at least stop by."

Garrus was lost, but not Valena. The Turian noticed this, considered whether it was Citadel business to know that, and at length he asked: "Something from their past?"

Anika bowed her head. "Lena failed to stop Widowmaker from assassinating a prominent omnic leader. That was one of the events that sparked the Second Omnic Crisis and heralded the rise of synthetic extremists."

"After the first crisis, omnics were rather well behaved, some fanatics notwithstanding," Genji said as he walked in, Layali slightly behind him. "It was us who pushed them to rebel a second time."

"If you count Talon as part of us, that is," Shepard muttered. "Reaper surely knows the whole shebang, but if he does he's not telling."

Amari said darkly, "I still think his place is on the other side of the airlock."

"As do I, even if it wouldn't put him down," Shepard agreed uneasily, and continued, looking at Garrus and Valena as she did, "but however  _much_ it grates me, if there's something we should know is that compromises are necessary."

The Mercy AI informed: "Dr. T'Soni demands to speak with you, colonel."

"Put her on screen."

The projector shifted to show the visage of an Asari. It was immediately evident, as Valena had once commented, that Liara T'Soni was very young.

"Colonel Shepard, is it?" She said tentatively, her voice slightly brittle. "What is the problem? All my permits and safe conducts were in order according to ambassadors Goyle and Myrashi. I'm doing some delicate work here, and a disruption will set me back greatly."

Valena replied instead. "Dr. T'Soni, this is Valena Danaan, adjutant for Spectre Tela Vasir. We have reason to believe you may be the target of a forced extraction."

Liara went from surprise to puzzlement to alarm in the span of seconds. "F-forced extraction? Who-who would try to do that?"

"Your mother," was the simple reply. "It's highly likely she was indirectly involved on the assault on Elysium."

"But that can't be," she exclaimed. "And in any case, I'm distanced from my mother, we haven't talked for years now, what could she possibly want with me?"

"So far, we don't know," Shepard admitted in reply. "But we have it from good sources that she's moving to have you removed from Alliance space. For your personal safety and operational concerns we're now on our way to extract you."

Visibly rattled, T'Soni nodded. "A-alright… how long do I have? I want to bring some materials with me."

"We'll land next to your dig site in an hour's time. We have alerted your guards, but it would be best if you stayed out of sight."

Aaliyah had a moment to find odd the way asari paled. "...Yes. I'll be waiting."

The transmission ended. Shepard thought out loud, "Let's just hope this whole episode doesn't mean she ends up thinking she's about to be taken hostage."

"I wouldn't bet against that," Garrus said deadpan.

"Amari and Park, suit up. We're dropping you ahead of us the moment it's possible."

* * *

Therum

"LZ in sight," Mercy reported automatically.

"Amari? Park? Anything?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Park replied laconically.

Layali added roughly, "They'd be nuts to fly Kodiaks in this shit sandwich of a storm."

"Sandstorm or not, they have to arrive somehow. Perhaps some kind of land vehicle," Garrus hazarded.

Tracer voiced Shepard's suspicions: "Unless they are here already."

Layali's figure of speech was spot on. The gale howled and raged, sand flying in a swarm of stingers that became an abrasive whip upon a strong gust. And, to make a miserable weather even worse, it was night time on that part of the world, with no moon to at least turn the pitch black darkness into a twilight gloom. Only her shields allowed Amari to fly in such awful conditions.

"I've made contact with the guard force," the hardsuit pilot reported mechanically. "They're waiting for us."

"Copy that," Aaliyah acknowledged him. "The sooner we're out of this place the better."

Some lights turned on, illuminating the small valley that was their LZ and giving Tracer a reference point she could use. On such horrible weather, landing a vessel this big would be taxing, but she had the AI to assist her. And a good thing it was — the wind averaged forty knots, peaking at sixty at worst, and it never blew constantly from the same direction, shifting a few degrees every other second. While manual compensation was not impossible, it was somewhere to the left of it.

"Bloody hell, I'll be damned if it doesn't look cozy down there," Lena grumped.

"Then damned you are," Valena replied blankly. She had performed insertions on such weather before, but she had never liked it.

Wrex grunted. "Nice weather. Reminds me of home. Good time to dig in with some chow."

"Everyone hold on tight, it's getting rocky," Tracer warned, her attention focused on the altitude reading directly fed to her retinas. Three hundred meters… two hundred and fifty… two hundred…

The  _Girls' Night Out_  was a corvette, which meant she was some good eighty meters long, with a wingspan of roughly thirty-five. Not a sleek, sexy military design, but a civilian ship instead, she was not streamlined for atmospheric flight, which actually gave her a small edge on such kind of weather — but not that much of an edge. The gale made it almost impossible to gradually reduce her approach speed, and after roughly a minute of struggling while hovering at one hundred meters, Tracer straight-out dropped her like a rock instead — to light up all thrusters with scarcely ten meters to go.

Still she landed heavily. The whole craft jolted brusquely just before touching down.

"Apologies, crew," she said over the intercom. "We caught a gust of wind right at the last moment."

"'Apologies'? I would call it a perfect landing on such conditions, ma'am," Lumiscant retorted as she assessed the condition of the ship. "The only thing we'll need to take care of is the paint job."

Down on the cargo bay, Shepard punched the emergency release to deploy the loading ramp: "I want a choke point set by the gorge and a perimeter a hundred meters around the ship! Move!"

A quartet of troopers ran towards the ship. Aaliyah and Astrid moved to meet them as the rest of her crew raced to deploy around:

"Lieutenant Spilbergen reporting as ordered, ma'am!"

"Colonel Aaliyah Shepard. Where's the VIP?" She noticed this young officer did not even bother with a glance at Garrus and Valena.

"In the mines, ma'am, still preparing items for transportation."

The Starwatch colonel swallowed the curse on the tip of her tongue.  _Scientists…_ "There's no more time. How many men do you have here?"

"A full platoon, ma'am."

"You're no longer on escort duty. I want this installation guarded tighter than a vault, and don't consider yourself relieved until I say so personally. Is that understood?"

"Loud and clear, ma'am. We do have everything locked up nice and tight already."

"Vehicles approaching from the west through the canyons!" the airborne Layali alerted. "Bearing two-six-eight, estimate distance fourteen kilometers, say again one-four klicks, and closing in fast."

"You have your orders, lieutenant," Shepard barked. "Defend this place at all costs, you hear me?"

Spilbergen saluted. "Count on it, ma'am."

"Good. Garrus! You're in charge of the perimeter." She turned around and pointed at Astrid, Valena, Genji and Tracer. "You four, come with me. Let's go fetch the VIP before it gets hot here."

The archaeological dig itself was underground, and to reach it they had to traverse a series of tunnels and galleries excavated in the rock. They raced through the small maze, harried by the quickly approaching unknowns, until at last they met their objective as she arrived on a cargo elevator from further underground:

"Oh! You startled me," she said with some mild embarrassment.

"Dr. T'Soni, I gather? I'm Colonel Shepard, Starwatch. Are you ready to go?"

"If we can carry some items with us, then yes…"

"What items?"

Liara pointed at the crates around her. Shepard had to fight the urge to roll her eyes:  _Scientists!_

"Doctor, there's unknown people already coming our way. My ship's landed right next to these mines and is a sitting duck: one antitank round and it's toast. Choose what's absolutely critical and your detail will take the rest. They aren't after that, they're after you."

"But-but colonel—this is a disassembled Prothean data repository," Liara protested shakily. "I can't single out any critical component, either I take it whole or I don't."

Shepard cursed her luck. If it was Prothean, what if it had any clues to the stuff they actually wanted her to help with? "Okay, it can't be helped." She keyed her mike: "Lumiscant, send some worker frames to my position. There's some mission critical cargo that needs to be loaded aboard."

"Yes ma'am."

"Garrus, we have run into a snag here. Prepare to repel hostiles."

A very humanlike sigh came through the radio circuit: "Things could go without a hitch for once."

Aaliyah snorted. "You tell me. I'm sending Oxton and Shimada your way. Astrid, Valena and I will escort the VIP."

"Roger."

Tracer and Genji nodded and hurried away. Shepard hated being stuck down there when her crew and her ship could soon be attacked and was fidgety and uneasy, despite knowing that this Dr. T'Soni could help their investigation further along.

Liara noticed it and stammered: "I'm—I'm sorry, colonel. I didn't want to inconvenience you."

"It's not inconveniencing, it's—" In spite of herself, again Shepard found herself disarmed by an Asari, only it was by T'Soni's utter awkwardness this time. She felt Astrid's amused look and fought the irritation rising within her. "Doctor, you probably did right by insisting. The exact details we'll tell you when we're aboard my ship. I'm just concerned about our safety, that's all."

Liara nodded hesitatingly, then addressed Valena: "If I don't intrude—how is it that you ended up working with—?"

The Asari commando interrupted her holding up an open hand. "Were I to tell you that what you're asking is extremely sensitive in nature, what would you think?"

T'Soni dwelt on that for a few moments, eyeing Danaan's armor and weapons, thinking. "You're a huntress, aren't you? From Lessus, maybe?"

A nod. "I can't help but wonder what gave me away."

"Oh—er… You see, your posture… My mother had a Justicar acquaintance who established a shrine there. She was a specialist of this fighting style… I don't recall the name, it melds pressure points with improvised weapons. Very dirty fighting."

Valena smiled. "That sounds like mistress Citila alright. Not my mentor, but I spent some time on her shrine."

Liara shook her head. "Two of the most dreadful years ever."

"Yet you still remember enough to recognise the basic postures."

Shepard had to search for a while on the memories she had borrowed from Valena to find fleeting images of a dawn on a green sky and Asari acolytes already up and training, in a style stridently ringing of… eskrima and ninjutsu. She was not surprised, though. She had studied enough martial arts to know that, upon attaining a certain degree of mastery, from an apparently relaxed posture a practitioner could unleash all manner of attacks and parries.

"A-anyway, I thought no one undergoing Justicar training would become a gun for hire."

"That's correct," the commando allowed. "You should be able to deduce the rest yourself, doctor. I commend you for your keen eye."

That only flustered Liara even more. "It's-it's what I do. I find patterns." She turned to Shepard and Martinsson: "You say you need my help?"

The Starwatch colonel nodded, seeing the first worker frame turn around the corner down the passageway just as she was wondering what was it that kept them. "Your expertise may help us decipher something that's got us stumped, but that will have to wait. Let's get this stuff aboard so we can leave this place. Astrid, you're on point."

"Roger."

"Garrus, report."

"Your jumpjet trooper has confirmed four incoming Grizzly hover tanks, heading constant," came the reply. "Only one with visible weapons, a turret-mounted gun. I have tasked Park and Amari to flank and engage when they approach our line. Got the two Bulwarks positioned for long-range fire. They should appear on the gorge in minutes," he reported. "We're ready here."

At first glance, it did not look like it was something they could not handle. Still she was uneasy. "Stay on your toes," she instructed. "Alert the  _Bayern_  and the  _Miramar._  If they knew of Dr. T'Soni they also know she's under guard."

"Thought as much," Garrus agreed. "I suggest you allow the Iera squad to stand by in reserve."

Her first impulse was to say no. She had her misgivings about Reaper and Widowmaker, but it was the biotic woman that she absolutely distrusted. But he made a fair point — if the enemy overwhelmed them it would be wise to have a backup. "Granted," she said reluctantly. "Only as a last resort. I don't like them."

The trip back to the surface was agonizingly slow, with Aaliyah expecting to hear at any time that the unknown enemy was on them, and so making it to the surface with no contact reported only made her even more uneasy…

"Contact, contact! Krogan infantry advancing through the gorge!"

On his position next to the loading ramp, Wrex spun around: "What?"

"Amari, Park, engage at will, engage at will!" Garrus repeated.

Krogan warriors had a fearsome reputation that proved yet again well deserved: there were roughly thirty of them, all outfitted in dull red and black armour, and they poured through the crevasse and up the slope like a tidal wave; they were met with a withering hail of fire, but Krogan could absorb a ridiculous amount of punishment before even falling to their knees and crawling on, with only direct cannon fire from the Bulwark tanks felling them outright.

Not one to be surprised, Tracer had, within seconds, retreated into the ship's armoury to fetch a heavy duty plasma shotgun, but even that was lacking punch enough to actually score a kill in one shot, so instead she focused on trying to disable them by shooting at their joints and feet. Genji followed suit, and in doing so they forced the raiders to close their ranks, reducing their available cover, but not stopping their advance:

"You can't bottle them up for long!" Wrex warned. "You need more firepower to hold them back, when they get close enough they'll just charge you!"

"Brulirea! Send an SOS to the  _Bayern_  and the  _Miramar!_ " Shepard ordered. "Doctor T'Soni, get on board! Astrid, on me!"

It was clear that they would not beat off this attack, so the only solution was to get the hell out of Dodge, but to do that they had to cover their retreat. That was what Shepard and Martinsson did: upon deploying their barriers a signal was sent, and both the Starwatch troopers and the Alliance soldiers guarding the dig site started a staggered withdrawal; Mercy had her Bulwark mechs shift to sentry mode and pour a near solid stream of fire down the gorge, with the hardsuit-riding Park assisting. Their single Krogan, on the other hand, charged the enemy with a rousing battle cry, alternately tossing biotic attacks and firing explosive rounds off his shotgun.

Still, Wrex turned out to be right. The attackers smelled blood as the soldiers retreated, and they threw caution to the wind to launch themselves into a human wave attack. Gatling fire scythed through them, but still they kept on coming.

Then multiple biotic singularities materialized, followed by a cascade of shockwaves, and the battlefield filled with detonations. Shepard spun around to see Liara, Valena and the woman they had captured at Iera standing next to the loading ramp, arms outstretched, with Lacroix crouched to their left, aiming her long rifle, and Reyes standing before them arms at the ready.

"That gave them pause," Garrus noted. "This is it!"

"Everyone aboard! Now!"

"Pin them down again!" Park asked. Valena complied, with their VIP and Miranda also repeating the attack. Softened by the previous onslaught, the raiders were less able to evade the pull of the singularities, giving both the hardsuit pilot and the airborne Amari perfect targets — for the former to trigger a core overload, eject and send his mech straight into the clustered foes, and for Layali to expend her entire load of explosive ordnance in a devastating barrage.

The Bulwarks were the least to board the ship, still firing their Gatling guns nonstop as they did:

"Tracer, get us out of here!"

* * *

Therum orbit

"Layali, Park, your timing was impeccable," Shepard congratulated her troopers.

The former thanked her with a laconic bow of her head. Park was more emotional, however. "If I may be allowed to speak freely, ma'am—I'm damned glad we acted when we did."

Spilbergen was having a serious case of the shakes. "If we'd been alone down there they'd have wiped us out," he said grimly. "You people… you were a godsend."

Aaliyah produced a bottle of liquor and a few shot glasses from a cupboard. "We're not on a Navy ship. Drink up."

The Alliance marine smiled. "Let me say it again. A godsend." He raised his glass at the Starwatch crew. "To you guys."

The mess hall was crowded with people, and so was the medbay. Of the Compact crew, Genji and Wrex had been the only ones to sustain anything other than flesh wounds, but it had not been something they could not pull through. The Alliance soldiers guarding the dig, being less heavily armed and with no support of their own, had had a rougher time.

Miranda, Lacroix and Reyes stood apart from the others. It was increasingly hard for Shepard to reconcile her own antipathies with the fact that the ex-Talons had once again assisted them when they had no obligation to do it, being objectively their enemy.

Reaper noticed her glance and returned it neutrally. The Starwatch commander interrogated him silently:  _What's your angle? I'm not forgetting what you did. Are you trying to make amends?_   _Should I buy it?_

"Now that we're safe… ish," Spilbergen corrected himself, "what's going on here? I never saw Citadel goons on our side."

Aware of her commander's silent exchange with Reyes, Astrid took charge of that with a shrug. "What makes you think we're cleared to tell you?"

A nod. "So it's official."

Martinsson gave him a warning look. "Nobody's going to shoot you for asking — but I hope you're looking for a permanent assignment on a Traverse outpost. Or pigeonholed as a glorified babysitter for one egghead after another."  _You should have known better than to open your mouth._

The marine and his underlings gathered there got the hint.  _You're right._ "Asking what?" Spilbergen said rhetorically.

"If I may, miss, I do have one question," another trooper asked respectfully. "What the hell were those Krogan mercs doing on Alliance space?"

Shepard stood up. "That's something to figure out," she answered. "But there's something else to take care of first. Now that we've caught our breath a little, I should check on our VIP. Excuse me."

They had allotted Dr. T'Soni her own cabin, now filled to the brim with the crates containing the pieces of the Prothean relic she had refused to leave behind — and which she had also refused to stow on the cargo bay.  _Scientists,_ Aaliyah thought for a third time. A brief wait, and the door opened.

Liara was lying on the bunk bed, her face drained from exhaustion and stress. She opened her eyes and sat painstakingly when Shepard walked in.

"Colonel," she said softly, "are you coming to check up on me?"

A nod. "I had expected Danaan to be here."

Slowly Liara shook her head. "Valena… excused herself. She left me in the capable hands of Dr. Ziegler." Again she lay back on the bed. She was tired. "Please forgive me… I'm not used to situations like this."

Shepard considered briefly whether it was fortunate or not for her to be acquainted to such events. "You're better off that way." Then she added: "Valena has her reasons."

"I know," was the weak reply. "Miss Danaan is not famous, but I know quite a lot about her. She… helped broker a ceasefire between the Alliance and the Citadel during the First Contact War. After that she took vows of celibacy and exile from her own people."

Aaliyah sat over a crate — carefully. "Again, she has her reasons," she repeated. "She told me once that she has to bear the burden of concealing secrets from her kind."

This surprised Liara: "A Justicar would confide you that?"

This surprised Shepard in turn: "I didn't know she was a Justicar."

"Oh—er, one in training, I mean," she stammered. "How do you know of them? They are rather secretive."

She meditated her response carefully: "Let's just say… the burden she carries is one I'm familiar with."  _After a fashion._

Liara understood at once—and blushed. It was endearing. "Oh! Sorry for, er, intruding."

Shepard smiled and shook her head. "You didn't intrude."

"So you have already…"

"Yes, I had to meld with Valena."

The young Asari knotted her brow. " _Had_ to?"

Aaliyah held back a sigh.  _Here we go…_ "What do you know of the Elysium incident?"

"I heard it was attacked… the Alliance lodged a protest and threatened with direct reprisals, unless those responsible were punished and a Spectre was brought in for questioning… Am I right?"

Shepard blinked. "You're remarkably well informed."

"Well… I don't have access to any classified data sources. I just like to stay current."

"You do a better job than most." She straightened up. "But if you also knew what the attackers were after…"

Liara shook her head tiredly. "Sorry. It was not divulged."

_So… whoever knows of the Compact hasn't spread the knowledge around yet._ "I can tell you that. The apparent objective of the raiders was to seize a Prothean relic kept under guard on the military base my organization maintained there."

The Asari scientist sat up: "You had a… Prothean artifact there? A  _working_  one?"

"Yes," she admitted. "It was unearthed in a newly founded colony and moved there for safe keeping and study, but we weren't able to make much progress."

T'Soni stared at her with a dreamy expression, then: "You said 'weren't.'"

Aaliyah chose her words with great care: "It was partially destroyed during the attack."

That puzzled Liara. "So something useful did survive?"

The Starwatch officer tapped her temple twice. "Some of it is here."

The Asari was astonished: "You interfaced with a Prothean artifact? That's amazing! What did you see?"

"That's what we need your help with," was the flat answer.

She eyed her oddly, then the pieces fit and she saw the picture: "Oh… So that's why you tried melding with Valena. But you needed someone acquainted with Prothean technology. And I was the only one available, I gather."

A reluctant nod. "First we tried to recruit professor Nefara Cirron. We believed that if a Spectre approached her there would be no objections. We were wrong… the matriarchs sponsoring her through the Asari government foiled all our attempts to get in touch with her."

"She's about the best there is." Liara dwelt on that for a few seconds before adding: "I gather your initiative is known to very few people."

Shepard forced herself to answer after remembering that, if things with this Asari went the same way they had gone with Valena, soon she would be pry to everything. "I wouldn't go as far as saying that it's about as black as it gets, but it depends on about half a dozen Spectres, some high ranking officers from both the Systems Alliance and the Turian navies, and Starwatch, my own agency. It doesn't even have a formal name, it's just called the Compact."

Liara kept her eyes on her. "So I'm being asked to collaborate with a clandestine effort."

There were a dozen different good arguments she could pitch at her, but this young Asari was informed enough and perceptive enough that she would see through her.

But shameless candor could not be misconstrued. "Yes," she said simply.

The blue eyes bored into her for a few instants still.

Then she looked sideways . "You say those Krogan were sent to extract me."

An uneasy nod. "That intel was supplied to us by the Spectres. The exact source, I don't know."

"My mother could have simply sent for me—no… The Alliance could have held me as a bargaining chip. But send Krogan?" She was lost in thought for a while. "How she could have been involved on the Elysium incident… she may be anti-Alliance, but I know she would not resort to anything so brutal."

Shepard was very alert now. "We believe associating with Saren Arterius was the kicker for her hawkish stand."

Liara seemed about to say something, then changed her mind. Then she changed her mind again. "What happened on your colony… it was horrible. Part of me still refuses to believe that my mother took part on that." A sigh. "A rather small part." Then she looked up. "But I won't accept that it's something she would do voluntarily. If she did, it was because she was pushed into doing it, and she… needs my help."

The Starwatch officer held her gaze. "And, by that, you mean 'our' help."

That made T'Soni instantly uneasy, but she echoed Shepard's earlier candor. "Yes."

After some long instants, Shepard bowed her head in agreement. "I can't promise anything, but if it turns out that she was somehow coerced into working with Saren on the Elysium attack, we'll see to it that she's exonerated."

The Asari deflated with relief. "Thank you. Then yes. I'll help you."

Aaliyah bowed her head. Here we go again. "So… we should get started."

Liara stared quizzically. It took her a moment to understand. Instantly she blushed.

"… Alright."

Shepard noticed Liara's hands were slightly shaking as she propped herself up.

"Hey. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"N-no, of course not… sorry."

The first time Aaliyah had melded, Valena had stared deep into her eyes while holding her hands. Danaan's serenity and assurance had eventually broken through her initial reluctance and mistrust, and had eased her through the experience.

It was plain obvious that Liara was nowhere near like that, as her own hands trembled and sweated as they reached out to hold hers.

"Look… look at me," she asked softly. Liara was struggling very hard to keep her nerves in check. For a second Shepard believed she would not be able to get a hold of herself, but eventually she succeeded and her eyes changed to a solid, deep and unnerving black:

"Embrace eternity."

* * *

Aaliyah took a deep breath, eyes closed, then opened them as she exhaled… and stared at Liara with big, alarmed eyes:

"Why didn't you tell me you had never done this before?"

Liara was in shock. She stared sightlessly ahead for a few seconds, slightly panting. Then she managed to jaunt back into reality and returned her look.

"You would have refused. I… I wanted to see. What you saw."

Shepard found herself at a loss for words. She was possessed in equal parts of wonder, surprise and the horrible sensation of having defiled an event that only happened once per lifetime.

Unexpectedly her eyes became wet. "Yes," she stammered. "I'd have refused."

Liara smiled shyly. "Don't feel guilty. You did not cause me any discomfort."

The Starwatch officer struggled to regain her composure. The Asari held her hand, and Shepard noticed it was much steadier now. That did the trick. She bowed her head.

"Thank you." Again a deep breath. "For us…"

"Yes, I know it now. It's a life-changing experience for us too."

The roles had somehow been reversed, with Aaliyah feeling fragile and weak and Liara trying to comfort her. Eventually Shepard realized that and smirked. "Heh… I never expected it to turn out like this."

"Neither did I." Liara exhaled deeply. "I expected something… and got an entirely different result instead."

They had a big enough reason to feel disappointed: their joining had not yielded the results Shepard had hoped for.

What they had found, on the other hand, was profoundly disturbing.

"I agree." She exhaled in turn. "We should go and tell the others what we've found out."

Shakily Liara tried to stand up, but once she stood straight her weakness vanished. "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits go to BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 for their proofreading, criticism and input. My thanks!


	22. Citadel: Shockwaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sobering revelations and news put pressure on the Compact. Meanwhile, Shepard tries to come to terms with her nemesis.

_Girls' Night Out_

The whole Compact crew was gathered in the war room: Amari, Martinsson, Oxton, Park, Shepard, Shimada, Ziegler, Brulirea, Lumiscant, Danaan, Vakarian and Wrex. The Mercy AI was also standing by, as was Liara.

The hologram projector shifted to display David Anderson's face. "Shepard. Good to see you. I understand you have news of importance."

Aaliyah had had to spend several minutes composing herself after the melding, as she struggled to box away the questions blazing in her mind. She hoped she could, if not answer them, at least escalate some of those. "Yes, skipper. The mission was a success. We had to fend off a group of Krogan mercenaries, but we have successfully recruited Dr. Liara T'Soni. She helped me to decipher part of the information encrypted on the Prothean beacon destroyed on Elysium. Also… there's the matter of our prisoners to discuss."

Anderson frowned. "I also have news regarding your prisoners. I have been instructed to pass on new orders to you. They are your responsibility and yours to make use of as you see fit."

Shepard was dumbstruck. She refrained from asking if he knew what that meant because of course he did, and asked instead, "Whose orders are those, skipper?"

"They came to me through Vice Admiral Steven Hackett."

A scowl. "This is very fishy, skipper."

"Tell me about it, X. He did not like it either."

"I trust he also didn't know anything about our intelligence leak," she added darkly, then she snapped at him, "David, this is a load of crap. Someone knows enough about us to feed us intel outside of normal channels. There's nothing to stop us from walking deaf, dumb and blind into a trap if that someone decides to feed us disinformation instead. And now, just because, I have to become custodian to people who know about Erinyes but won't reveal how or why."  _Then there's the small kink about two of them being some of the most destructive terrorists seen in ages, but whatever._  "Have you been able to find something about them at all?"

"Reyes and Lacroix, you already know. Neves, Richter and Tomoe are all former Corsairs and served on the Skyllian Verge against the Batarian External Forces. I'm forwarding you their files now. The biotic woman… I had to call in some favors to find out something. She is registered as one Miranda Lawson, but other than a birth certificate and a few high school and college diplomas there's nothing. Zero. Then, there's some Hades Security personnel files matching her description, but under the name of Samantha Sutherland. Under this name, she's had extensive experience as a security consultant." He paused briefly. "I've put out a personal request on some information brokers about her."

Shepard had no choice but to acknowledge that. "Doesn't make me trust her any better, skipper."

"I know," Anderson accepted reluctantly, "but I also know Hackett. If he's passed down those orders without challenging them then he must be privy to something about her that he can't disclose to us. It's not the kind of reassurance you need, I get that," he allowed, "but go with it."

 _In other words, your problem._ She breathed deeply. "Alright, skipper." She decided to deal with this one later and moved on. She had bigger things on her mind. "There's some more pressing concerns we have to deal with. Regarding Dr. T'Soni here, we were surprised to face off against Krogan mercenaries. Our own Krogan, here, has one theory."

Wrex took it as his cue and spoke up. "These were Blood Pack goons. Nasty fellows. They want to rule the Terminus and they don't care who gets in their way."

"Something still doesn't add up about this," Garrus thought out loud. "Blood Pack mercenaries aren't much for taking people alive. Also, where were the vorcha? They're their favorite cannon fodder."

Martinsson continued his train of thought: "Once I knew it was them, I had expected them to deploy vorcha as a distraction to close the Nova Yekaterinburg starport, but there were none of them around. Clearly they had some kind of local connection that allowed them to come here without anyone seeing them."

"The Pack has a lot invested in the underworld," Wrex manifested. "That way they stay current, get contracts and keep tabs on other strong players for the space they want."

"The local governor must be happy about that," Shepard quipped.

"Inquiries are already being pushed," Anderson informed. "Commander Rodimtsev gave chase with the  _Miramar_  and cornered the Krogan on a quarry. Most of them fought to the last breath, but he managed to catch three alive. They're very badly wounded, so interrogation is out of the question for the time being."

Wrex snorted. "Now that's something worth seeing. Humans trying to sweat something out of a Krogan."

"Let's not go there, mister," Anderson warned.

Another snort. "That sort of thinking won't get you anything useful."

"We could pursue an alternate course," Danaan suggested. "The Blood Pack enjoys strong support back in the Krogan homeworld, doesn't it? Wasn't it the warlord Ganar Wrang who actually usurped the name before turning it into a mercenary legion?"

Their single Krogan trooper glanced at Valena. "You want to go there, I'm not stopping you. But Tuchanka isn't very welcoming of outsiders. Least of all of a Turian," he said, referring to Garrus.

"You said it once, Krogan have little love for the Citadel," Shepard reminded him. "We could be seen as on the lookout for allies."

"We  _could_ invoke Spectre authority to have the CDEM let us through," Garrus mused, referring to the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission, "but I don't know if that would work. If there's one thing that would make the Council go all-out ballistic is the Krogan somehow getting their hands on AI technology, and I don't have to tell you that in their minds humans equal synthetics. Even if they did let us into Tuchanka, keeping a human visit a secret from the Council is impossible."

Wrex was silent for a few seconds. "We Krogan respect how you stood up to the Citadel back on the First Contact War," he said at last to Shepard. "If we could get you down there, I'm certain a lot of people would want to talk to you. If there was something fishy going on in Tuchanka it should not be that hard to find out."

Danaan and Vakarian exchanged looks. "We'll need a Spectre with us if we're going there," the Turian said at last.

"You can get one soon enough," Anderson informed. "They are going back to Erinyes. Some development at the Citadel, I heard. Vakarian," he addressed the Turian, "you surely would like to know there's news about your Quarian agent, Shilu'Vael."

"Did she survive the surgery?" At once Garrus was attentive.

"Yes, but… the Migrant Fleet is not going to be happy. Doctors Chakwas and Linping had to make some unorthodox decisions. They fashioned some cybernetic limbs and implants for her, just like your arm, Shepard, but to be absolutely sure that they would work on her she was also grafted with a resident AI."

"They did what?!" The Turian was shocked. "You know that's as close to blasphemy as it gets for Quarians, right?"

Anderson bowed his head gravely. "We know, but the way I hear it, it was either that or losing her, and our doctors were told to pull all the stops."

" _Primum, non nocere_ ," Anika quoted, troubled. Her implications were obvious: Shilu'Vael would be physically stable, but the psychological damage inflicted by implanting her with nothing less than  _a full-fledged_   _artificial intelligence_ would be appalling.

"Yes, I've heard the words, Doctor Ziegler," the Alliance officer acknowledged her. "It can't have been easy for them to make these choices."

Shepard looked one way, then another, then shrugged. "We'll deal with this the moment we arrive at Erinyes, if none of the Spectres have dealt with it by then." She looked at Liara next. "Now, for the last item."  _The really big stuff._

The Asari had kept to herself for the whole meeting, if only because the implications of the knowledge she had helped Shepard unlock terrified her. Now, she blushed and stammered, "We—I—er—reached a conclusion… the Prothean artifact destroyed on Elysium was an information relay… and it contained a message. A warning." She looked at all the faces arranged there. They were all staring expectantly, literally holding their breaths, so she continued: "The… Protheans were systematically hunted down and annihilated… by a race of ancient machines who have been culling the galaxy every 50,000 years. The Protheans warned of them calling them the Reapers."

Again she looked around her. They all were jolted by the revelation, if on different degrees. "That's impressive…," Anderson said slowly, "but I fail to notice the connection."

"It's… two-fold," T'Soni answered haltingly. "First… all the ruins I've dug up all around the galaxy are between 48,000 and 50,000 years old." Everyone was disturbed by that, but she had not yet dropped the real bomb: "And second… the message featured depictions of the Reapers themselves… and they were gigantic starships exactly matching the dreadnoughts that attacked both Elysium and Pokhara."

* * *

Aaliyah walked into the cell alone, questioning her sanity for the umpteenth time. There could be a way not to misconstrue what she was doing as something resembling a death wish, but however much she had racked her brains, she had not found it.

In the end, her gut ruled her actions, and her gut said that, out of all the people captured on Iera,  _this_  one was the one she had to somehow come to terms with if she was ever going to be able to trust them enough to deploy them — something that, given the revelations of the day, she could not afford not to do.

Gabriel Reyes glared at her relentlessly.

"I'm surprised."

Shepard returned the look. "I've been given orders. I'm supposed to be your guardian and your commander now."

The former Blackwatch leader did not react visibly to that. Instead, he returned to his fitness routine and resumed doing pull-ups.

Aaliyah watched him at work with equal dispassion. The atmosphere became thick as Reyes and Shepard remained silent, as if neither one wanted to speak up first.

But Gabriel simply did not care for such games. "So you'd give me orders, guns, and expect me not to blow your head off."

She took her time to slowly frame her reply: "You had plenty of chances."

His glare was glazed dead. "I'm just biding my time."

"Don't give me that crap," she snarled. "You're smarter than that. There's an angle to this. You want something. I want to know what that is."

Another pull-up. "For starters, how about we get the credit we deserved after the First Omnic Crisis." Another pull-up, and he shot her another dead look. "Not that you can do something about it."

Shepard tilted her head slightly sideways. "And that justified hunting down and killing one Overwatch agent after another?" The personal fact was left out but they both knew it:  _not to mention my crew._

"You're talking bullshit about stuff you don't know the half of."

"Make me know then."

Reyes did not stop his routine. He now went to the floor to do some crunches. "You're all bitchy about your dead crew." And unexpectedly he added: "And you're right. You only were guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Aaliyah was rocked by the admission and fought to conceal it. "So we just were in the way."

"What do you want to hear? That you were the enemy? Traitors? Collaborators?" He kept doing his crunches. "In a way, you all are. My agents died by inches to hold omnics at bay, and thirty years later I find out you're all bedmates with the damned tin cans.

"But I'll do your men a favor and say they were unwitting pawns. Then, it's like that, you just were in the way." Another few crunches while Shepard stared rock-faced. "And it was a mistake."

"It was a little more than just  _a mistake,_ " Aaliyah rapped out at him, her furious anger almost overcoming her control.

"Bite me. You want to hear me say something else, your problem," he said hoarsely. "Someone else used much worse words. You can ask her."

_By 'her,' he means… Widowmaker?_

"... Fine. I'll do that." She took a few deep breaths, then asked: "But what about the others? The Overwatch agents?"

"Those  _were_  traitors, the lot of them. By omission or intent." He shifted position and started doing push-ups. "Amari, Morrison and the rest were the poster boys while my team was doing the ugly stuff nobody wanted to see. Stuff that won the war. Everyone who  _knew_ and did not take a stand was an enemy."

As Reyes' team had been part of Starwatch's parent organization, it had inherited all of its records. But those were still sealed, even to high-ranking members. The only ones who ever got cleared to see them were the leaders themselves, such as Morrison and Zaryanova had been.

Grudgingly she admitted, "I don't know about what Blackwatch did, other than what was released to the media." Which was awful, but Reyes himself had said it: it was the ugly stuff that nobody wanted to see.

Gabriel snorted. "Some senior officer."

"It doesn't make you any less of a murderer. Going after people because they didn't back you up?" She snorted back.

"No, you're right." He continued his push-ups. "I'm still a murderer," he admitted.

This second admission left her wordless.

Gabriel noticed this and continued. "I've spent thirty years sealed away in a can, then another twenty roaming the galaxy. That's a  _lot_  of time already before considering that all the company I got were my memories." More push-ups. "If vengeance is a cruel mistress, then memory is an even harsher judge. Make of that what you want."

Shepard caught a tiny glimpse of Reyes' pain. He had taken the mantle of Reaper out of spite — and come to regret it. But that realization was quickly swamped by sheer indignation: how could she possibly  _empathize with the murderer that had massacred her squad?_

"Nothing you say can excuse what you've done."

He changed positions again and stood on his hands. "I don't talk much."  _And I've kept doing stuff instead,_  the rest floated in the air.

Now he looked into her eyes, and she returned the look. Reyes' face was as blank as it had been, but for some reason it seemed to her that he appeared lighter somehow.

She turned to leave.

"Since you gave enough of a damn to come and talk, you should know something else," he said to her back. "Nobody ever cared enough to ask."

She did not turn around. "I'm not your friend."

"No." Reyes got back on his feet and reached for his great coat. "You're my commander."

Still she did not turn around.

"We're in transit for the next two standard days. Make sure you're up by 0600."

* * *

Erinyes station

"Unidentified vessel, you are approaching a restricted area. Identify yourself and shift your course or you will be fired upon."

"This is the Fortaleza corvette  _Girls' Night Out._ We have clearances for docking. Submitting now."

Shepard observed the approach maneuver with tired eyes. The radio contact was entirely unnecessary, and she knew the Erinyes docking control had been tracking them for hours now, but it was impossible to tell who could be looking.

Reyes' surprising frankness had not been matched by Lacroix. Widowmaker had listened impassively to what her fellow had related, just adding that Gabriel had 'spared her the worst details' and that pushing any further would only yield pain.

Maybe the assassin was right. The whole episode had forced her to relive the horror of the encounter — and that of seeing what had been left of her crew.

Justice had to be made, but how? Her hatred called for Reyes to be sealed away in a can for another century, but that would solve nothing. And her practical self dryly noted that not making use of such an asset was beyond foolish.

If Liara and she herself had understood things right, that simply was unaffordable.

" _Girls' Night Out,_  your request to dock is granted. Please proceed to bay four."

A nod. "Mercy, I'm leaving the details to you," she said to the AI, then added deadpan, "Make sure Anika doesn't leave you behind."

"Absolutely. See you later, colonel."

Both Anderson and Nihlus were waiting on the other side of the airlock.

"Skipper." She saluted. Layali and Lena followed suit behind her.

"Shepard. Amari. Oxton." He saluted back. His face was grave.

Tracer smirked and said wryly, "What's the crisis this time?"

Nihlus answered curtly, "Come. Best if you see it for yourself." To Liara, he said: "Dr. T'Soni, welcome to Erinyes station. Let me apologize in the name of everyone here for the events of the recent days."

"It's not necessary… you didn't cause me any discomfort. Your colonel here said my help was needed, and now I know first-hand why," she answered a bit haltingly. "I'm at your disposal."

The Turian Spectre bowed his head in thanks. "It's appreciated. You have already helped us, and your expertise may come in handy again soon."

The Spectre and the Alliance officer led the Compact crew through the asteroid base. Liara was agog with amazement and surprise, her excited eyes darting everywhere and taking note of everything they saw, but at the same time she could not miss the gravity on the faces of those escorting her.

Soon they were back at the conference hall where they had first discussed Shepard's exposure to the Prothean device. Among others, Tela Vasir, Jondum Bau and Avitus Rix were there already.

Aaliyah approached the Turian. "Good to see you again, Avitus. So you have seen fit to join us here?"

Rix gave her a polite nod in greeting. "I've been doing the dirty work for too long," he said distastefully. "Call me corny, but this feels  _right._  I've been trying to convince myself for years that what I was doing was in the interests of peace and stability. I don't have to do that here."

Behind Shepard, Tracer's heart swelled. It surprised her. "Back in my day, I used to say that the world could always use more heroes."

Avitus looked at the girl, recognizing her. "I had that enthusiasm too. Years beat it out of you."

Lena smiled an old, weary smile. "Bloody accurate. I s'pose we're about to be treated to another beating?"

A scowl. "You'll see."

Soon everyone was seated. "What you're about to see happened yesterday on the Citadel," Vasir said curtly.

A large screen set on the wall turned on. It displayed the Council Rotunda. On one side stood Donnel Udina as chargé d'affaires —Goyle had been recalled in protest following the attack on Elysium—, and on the other, the Councillors behind their lecterns. They did not look pleased.

"Mister Udina, we have summoned you to see what kind of excuse you can produce for your outrageous actions. It's not enough for you to flaunt your flagrant defiance to the ban on AI development agreed upon by most of the civilized races of the galaxy, you now lead a  _diplomatic mission into Geth territory!_ " the Turian Councillor stormed. "Need you be reminded that the synthetics nearly annihilated a whole spacefaring race?"

Udina was impassible. "Councillor Paratus, as we are not signatories to the Citadel Accord, we are not bound by Citadel laws. Furthermore, we are not engaged in conflict in any capacity with the Geth collective. I believe I speak for the whole of the Systems Alliance when I say that I find it deplorable that, in lieu of supporting an attempt at rapprochement between organics and synthetics, you would condemn it."

"Synthetics that have clearly displayed a genocidal attitude against organics," Councillor Melara retorted. "Either you are clearly courting an avowed enemy of all life on the galaxy, or you are being played by the very AI creations you defend so steadfastly."

"If this 'avowed enemy of all life' was so intent on embarking on a genocidal crusade, they have had plenty of time to launch it, let alone to prepare it," Udina replied, still unmoved. "The diplomatic overture was proposed by the very group of citizens that resided on the world your forces invaded on the First Contact War, the Shambali—"

"And you expect us to be put at ease by that?" Councillor Talron exploded. "An 'attempt at rapprochement' led by a collective of robots claiming to be the most aggravated party in the conflict?"

"A collective of our  _citizens_  that  _was_  the most aggravated party, Councillor," was the dry reply. "May I remind you that Pokhara was a model colony where both humans and omnics coexisted in perfect harmony and worked shoulder to shoulder before  _your_  forces invaded. It was not our actions that precipitated the war and the damages that followed. It was yours."

"Do not stray from the point! The damages and responsibilities of each party were defined on the armistice," Paratus almost snarled. "We're discussing something entirely different now."

"Indeed we are," Udina saw the chink in the armor and moved in for the kill. "We are discussing a clear and present danger. Turian troops, with identity and allegiances verified as belonging to the armed forces of the Hierarchy, lay waste to one of our colonies and massacre our citizens and personnel, and the Council refuses to take responsibility. If the diplomatic mission led by Tekhartha Zenyatta —a well-known leader who has long espoused harmony, peace and understanding between the Alliance and the Citadel, and one willing to overlook the harm done to his fellow omnics, no less— is perceived as a move to ally with a party threatening Citadel interests, it should come as no surprise. Instead, it should be read as a direct consequence of your refusal to hold yourselves accountable — of your dereliction of duty."

At that point, the image froze. "There's more, but it's pointless to dwell on it," Rix stated with finality.

All Shepard could think was:  _Wow._

"While this does not affect our association," Bau began, "it is nonetheless troubling. If anyone here needs a refresher on the Morning War, I suggest you get it, right now. Regardless of whether Paratus was right or not, one fact stands: the Geth nearly exterminated a whole species, slaughtering billions. I cannot help but ponder what kind of unholy threat could emerge out of this."

There was a lot of murmuring, but no direct answer.

Then Lumiscant stood up slowly.

"Not long ago we saw a crew of Batarians killing dozens of my fellow omnics, while sparing their organic prisoners that kind of treatment," she started. Her quiet voice was trembling with barely contained anger. "It took us two wars and absurd numbers of dead on both sides to come to terms with humanity and to accept each other as equals, and all we see on part of the rest of the galaxy is a stubborn, mule-headed determination to go through the same. You hate us. You fear us.

"And we are stupid sick of it!" she suddenly raged. "Brulirea and I agree with Udina, word by word. It's not like Null Sector approached the Geth to forge a genocidal alliance, it was Tekhartha  _goddamned_ Zenyatta! That guy wouldn't lift a finger to swat a fly! Why would he make an overture to the Geth, if not for peace? He has lived through our whole history and never lifted his hand in anger!" She clenched her articulated fists and hissed: "Since you're so eager to go to war with  _something,_  well, Dr. T'Soni here has some wonderful news for you. There, a  _real_  threat for a change, instead of fearmongering over imaginary ones. Oh, and by the way, it was just  _one_  ship that blew Elysium to pieces, and the good doctor says that  _whole fleets of them_  wiped out the Protheans to the last man. Happy now?"

Silence gathered for a few seconds. Both Anderson and Shepard believed the omnic had been way too hard on the Citadel people, but no voice was raised to object her words.

"I had that coming," Bau admitted at last. "The Alliance and the Citadel fundamentally disagree on the treatment of AI. Yes, we are afraid. We are terrified of a Morning War redux. If we had any Quarians here they'd flood you with stories of horror and killing."

"We're not—"

"You're not the Geth," Bau interrupted Lumiscant quietly. "We keep finding ways to ignore it and lump you with them. You could have gone their way, but you didn't."

Anika raised a hand next. "If I may… there's someone here who wants to have a word." She produced a small hologram projector from a satchel, placed it on the table, and tapped a few commands on her omni-tool.

Other than Danaan and Vakarian, the Citadel people had never met the Mercy AI, so they did not understand what was going on when the life-size figure of Angela Ziegler clad on the Valkyrie response suit appeared. They did notice, though, the way the Alliance people regarded the hologram with near-reverence.

"I'm… a facsimile of Anika's mother," the hologram introduced itself. "She made me in her image to stand watch over something so dangerous it could only be contained, not destroyed. She could have made me as a sterile AI with a series of mandates and laws to follow, but she chose instead to make me as close to what she had been in life as she could manage. You may address me by the callsign she once used, Mercy.

"My maker died in battle so she isn't here to talk to you today, but if she were, she would tell you not to be paralyzed by fear. Back then, during the Second Omnic Crisis, the governments of Earth were almost powerless before the onslaught of the rogue AIs, as they had thoroughly dismantled the one element of common, coordinated action they had to bring to bear against them, instead blaming each other and seeking to protect their own individual interests. While they bickered, the problem only grew larger.

"It took the original members of the agency they had disbanded to confront the rogue omnics and stop them. My maker was one of them. She gave her life so that others would survive, and her sacrifice helped pull the rest of the world out of their lethargy.

"I now keep Anika company, so I was among the first to hear about the Reapers and what happened to the Protheans at their hands. And here I see that you, people of the Citadel, are consumed by the same fear that kept Earth governments impotent so long ago, scared by the specters of imaginary threats and in this fashion distracted from a real menace.

"You still have the time and the chance to act. Don't squander it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual: many thanks to BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 for their help.


	23. Citadel: Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief furlough is decided while the Compact waits for intel to enable further operations.

Erinyes station

"Look… look at this place!" Liara was astounded. The station did not have a med bay as much as it had a full-fledged medical research installation, a fact that had probably saved Shilu'Vael's life. "What kind of research is taking place here?"

"We were trying to unlock biotics in humans," Anika replied. "We're exchanging expertise. We invented medi-gel and our nanomedicine is far more advanced than that of the Citadel. Your researchers are trying to port those technologies for your use. So far the biggest problem lies on chirality — Turian and Quarian physiologies are based on dextro-amino acids. Asari and Salarian biochemistries are more amenable."

Liara dwelt on that for a while, then noticed something. "You said 'were.'"

Shepard answered in Anika's stead. "This whole research has been rendered moot. Our prisoner aboard the Girls' Night Out is a skilled and potent biotic. Someone got there first."

"Oh," the Asari said simply. "And how do you think they accomplished it?"

"That is something we would love to know," doctor Karin Chakwas said in the way of welcome. "Welcome, doctor T'Soni. I don't know if your knowledge will be of use to us here, but please make yourself at home."

"Dr. Chakwas, good to see you," Shepard greeted her. "How is our Quarian guest?"

She shook her head. "Not good, colonel, not good. Apparently… she awoke just fine after the surgery… I mean, her brain scans showed similar levels of activity before and after the procedure. But she did not take it well."

Garrus shook his head, holding a hand to his face. "I knew it. Damn it… this is my fault. I could have told her to stay out of that mission…"

"Her number came up, Garrus," Aaliyah said flatly. "It could have been yours, it could have been mine. It happens. If anything, I was too rash to order us into the open, even if that was a risk we had to take."

The Turian knew she was right, but that did not lessen his misery. "I'm sorry. Not words enough." He raised his head: "Where is she?"

Shilu'Vael was interned on a secure cell, unconscious, heavy restraints binding her limbs. Shepard watched as Vakarian looked through the thick window, his pain obvious for all the world to see.

"Her current state isn't due to drugs or complications following her surgery," Chakwas informed. "She suffered a nervous breakdown and lapsed into a catatonic state. Regrettably, the restraints are necessary. She almost demolished her previous room."

The Turian barely nodded. "Has the Migrant Fleet… no," he shook his head. "They cannot be notified from here."

"We'll have to think of a good cover story," Shepard thought out loud, "or bring them into the Compact outright. But that's way above my pay grade."

Her omni-tool rang. It was Mercy, and she had sent her a text-only message:

_Colonel, you have received a message similar to the one that alerted you to the raid on Iera. I traced it as best as I could, but I found nothing other than another bogus address._

_You did well,_ she commended her _. We'll take it from here._

The blond Astrid Martinsson, no longer a green recruit but now a seasoned combatant and Shepard's second-in-command, knew her superior well enough to notice when her wheels started turning. "Something's afoot, lady Doomfist?"

"You could say that," she said distantly. What is this…? She turned toward Garrus: "I'm going back to the ship. Take all the time you need here."

* * *

Like the rest of her squad, Miranda was no longer a prisoner confined to a cell, though she was understandably very limited in her responsibilities and freedoms. With the notable exception of Widowmaker —she had been granted permission to use the firing range on Erinyes, and only that— she and her crew were forbidden from going ashore.

To her credit, she did not hold it against her new superiors. Further trusting them would have been foolhardy and careless, and that kind of trust had to be earned.

That had given her plenty of time to meditate on her new position, such as she was doing now, leaning on the lectern next to the hologram projector in the CIC. Her former employer had 'cut her loose' — no doubt a temporary state of matters: what she knew of the Compact pictured it as a tight operation, but one depending on extraordinary levels of secrecy to operate, and when that veil was rent asunder, its members would be hunted down by their parent governments.

And that was where Cerberus would quite likely come in.

Was she going to be asked to inform on the Compact? She would not quote odds on that one.

An electronic bell rang three times, then the synthetic voice of the Mercy AI informed of the ship's CO coming aboard. She rose her head in surprise: Shepard had hinted that, at least for a few days, they would be stationed there.

The determined stride of the Starwatch colonel told her much even before she had noted her dour face. Even so, the brunette woman still looked on impassively. She had made her position doubly clear before and no amount of interrogation had caused her to yield.

However, this one time Aaliyah managed to surprise Miranda. Instead of starting yet again with the probing, she approached the lectern. A few commands to the hologram projector, and the device ceased to display a representation of the ship to instead depict a star system. It was vaguely familiar, she noticed at once…

No way, she told herself. But, clearly, it was yes way. They somehow knew of the place.

Miranda was unusually hard to read when she wanted to, but the flash of her pupils did not escape Shepard's piercing gaze.

"An unknown source tipped us about this place," she said simply. "This same source is clearly aware of your 'predicament' here, since it was hinted in the message that you know all there is to know about it, miss Lawson — which means, whatever organization you work for has a mole, and it's one that knows you personally. And," she added as her eyes bore into Miranda's, "while there's no direct link, I'm inclined to believe this is the same source that anonymously informed about your raid on Rix's outpost.

"My first question, of course," she paced slowly around the large projector, "is who this source would be. I'm not going to risk being led into a trap, if that's what I'm going to find there.

"You can continue stonewalling and stalling, but before we get into that, keep this in mind: if it's some relief or rescue you're expecting, it's not coming anytime soon. If you don't help, long before then, I will know by myself what's going on there — even if I have to flatten the place. We can avoid that if you cooperate.

"I imagine you would think that if your crew can't have the place we shouldn't have it either. If that's your idea, go ahead. But there will be a price to pay for that."

Miranda's brain raced. Either Sombra had seen it fit to blow the whistle, or the Illusive Man had once again let her learn of stuff that he wanted her to leak. Why would he allow the Compact to learn about something as delicate as this? Maybe he wanted the Citadel to know about it? But why go that far when… she was proof?

If she acquiesced to Shepard's demand, there was a sliver of a chance the place could continue its work, if a very slim and tiny one. Refusing meant that chance would vanish — and she would also surrender all ability to influence how aggressively the Compact would pursue all the leads this would open up.

She bowed to the inevitable and nodded. "Lacroix and Reyes can answer who the source is better than I."

Aaliyah kept a rigid control of her features. "Mercy," she said quietly, "order Gabriel Reyes and Amélie Lacroix here."

"Yes, Shepard."

The former Talon agents arrived some scant few seconds later. " _Qu'est-ce?_ " the woman asked.

"Miss Lawson here says you can tell me about the source that tipped us off about both your operation on Iera and this."

Reyes glared at the star chart. His jet-black eyes were cold as ice. "So she sold us out. I should have seen it coming."

Shepard did not veer her eyes from them. "Explain."

Amélie spoke then. "Does the name of Sombra bring anything to mind,  _mon colonel?_ "

"Should it?"

The former Blackwatch commander snorted. "Just as I thought." He then elaborated: "Sombra was the alias of a hacker that worked for Talon. Strictly as a merc. She had her own agenda but we never found out what that was."

"She was astonishingly good at it," Amélie related. "You could never see her, unless she wanted you to. To name two things, she could hack every implant and camera within line of sight and commandeer omnic frames."

Shepard eyed them alternately. "And she's still active."

Miranda nodded. "Our previous mission was to locate and recruit her. She had been the guest of a weapons dealer on a freeport. She came with us, but a lot about the episode remains unclear." She gave both ex-Talons a cool glare. Neither volunteered anything.

Aaliyah did not miss that. Clearly this Sombra still had something she could use against Lacroix and Reyes. And the fact that she had seen no mention of her on the Overwatch files available to her could mean one of two things: either the intel available on her was still sealed away with the Blackwatch stuff, or she simply was that good.

"Why would she expose you? And inform on this place?"

"Gabriel said we never found what her agenda was. Why would she do it this time, we can't say either," Amélie said quietly.

"I can hazard a guess, for the good it will do," Reyes offered dryly. "Neither of us really enjoyed the idea of being sent on a retaliatory mission."

_A retaliation for the Elysium incident?_  "That's what the attack on Iera was?"

"And a waste of time and resources," he agreed bluntly, "but now that I know that she informed on us, I think she did so because she believes we're more useful here."

That was a radical thought. "Useful to whom?"

Reyes shrugged. "Hate me all you want, but even you'll agree that having me on board gives you a lot more staying power on the battlefield."

"And by planting you here she has people she can milk for intel on the Compact."

Lacroix gave Shepard a cool look. "What makes you think she can reach us without you knowing about it?"

"Nothing stops me from thinking you would if you could."

"Spycraft is not our line of work," Reyes said curtly. "If we were going to act against you, we would kill you. You said it yourself: if we wanted you dead you'd be dead several times over already."

Aaliyah had to concede that point. She exhaled and admitted, "So all I know is that I don't know what this… Sombra is up to."

Gabriel had a short, deep laugh at her expense. "That makes us equal."

A deep breath. "We'll need to continue this discussion later. Right now it's more important to know what's going on in this place."

Neither Lacroix nor Reyes said a word. It was Miranda who spoke: "That place houses a research installation where most of the work on biotics was done."

That answer came as a lightning bolt out of the blue. Slowly Shepard sat down. "Good. Continue."

"Most of the installation is underground," the Cerberus officer detailed. "It's an extensive facility." She went on to describe the place over the next few minutes. 'Extensive' was quite correct, actually. The complex housed a select staff of scientists, a guard force, experimental materials and a sizable number of test subjects.

"'Test subjects'?" Shepard asked piercingly.

"As you know, biotic talents on other species depend on prenatal exposure to element zero. The Teltin facility was tasked with finding out all the ways eezo affects the human body, ranging from nervous response to potential carcinogenesis, so a protocol could be devised for the creation of subjects with biotic potential similar or superior to those of other races — and tasked to do it at all costs. So, naturally, live test subjects were a no-brainer."

The Starwatch colonel was horrified, but a part of her understood the reasons. She could recall the recordings of the firefights aboard the London, back in the days of the First Contact War: Asari biotics had been powerhouses that decided engagements all on their own, with only elite troops being able to match them.

"Talon would have run it that way," Reyes noted. Lacroix did not comment.

"Who authorized this?"

Miranda shook her head. "I'm sorry, colonel. I have detailed knowledge of this place, but it does not include that."

"Then on whose authority does it run?"

She hesitated, but responded: "This is a self-contained operation. No reports are made for fear of leaks. In fact, it's quite likely the facility will be evacuated the moment it is discovered that you know about the place."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Miranda stared at Shepard hard. "Colonel, I understand. I've already given you all the information I could about this place. I know you're a relentlessly dedicated officer that would aggressively pursue every lead available, but in doing so you could cause more damage than you think. The agency I worked for—" she stressed the 'worked' "—might be someone you could turn to for help eventually."

Aaliyah felt a surge of indignation, then forced herself to process what she had said and implied. "I have a mission bigger than anything your 'former' agency is up to. I must prevent a war between the Alliance and the Citadel, and find out who is so interested in seeing that happen."

"And how would the interruption of this facility's research contribute towards those goals?" Miranda asked simply.

"What if your agency is the one trying to stir up trouble?" Shepard countered. "If they were, then what do you think I should do about people with access to human biotics — to people like you? You already were involved in a retaliatory strike."

"Our people are aware of the dangers. If the intention really was to cause damage, then there were much better targets to pick. You surely know that, colonel."

Still, Miranda knew she had lost. Aaliyah confirmed it: "You surely know too that I'd be naive if I took your word for it."

* * *

To her chagrin, Aaliyah had been forced to box away her concerns about the Teltin facility. It was not strictly a Compact matter, but an Alliance one instead, and letting any Citadel operative know about this was out of the question. And they could not assign someone outside the Compact to look into it either — on one hand, their main sponsor —Hackett— clearly depended on someone co-opted by Miranda's nebulous 'agency,' and on the other, that same agency could have the Alliance Navy infiltrated at a lower level, and Shepard did not want to risk alerting it.

She had to find an opportunity to act on this, but she could only bring humans and omnics with her, and she did not see what kind of excuse she could come up with to do it.

Furthermore, something had come up on Garrus' side, and he had been summoned to deal with it. Anderson was also away, having been ordered to Arcturus for an urgent briefing. So, for the time being, they were idle.

Might as well take the opportunity to have a meal, and one not overshadowed by urgencies. As a large deep space installation, Erinyes was decently stocked with food appropriate for all of the species that lived and worked there, but it was, again to her displeasure, nothing special.

It was the same case with Wrex. "How do you call this on your homeworld?"

"Why, we call it meat," Martinsson replied deadpan.

The Krogan let out a rumbling chuckle. "Funny. Now what kind of meat is this?"

"Livestock," Shepard answered. "I doubt you know what a cow looks like." She chewed without relish. It was tough and dry, but she knew that having meat there at all was a luxury.

Nobody had expected Wrex to deal with a fork and knife, and he did not. Like Shepard, he bit a mouthful and was equally disappointed. "Too small and too lean for my taste."

"They can weigh up to a ton," Astrid noted casually.

"Hmph. Small stuff."

"Tell me, Wrex," Anika asked, "what's your typical farm animal like?"

The Krogan laughed. "Farm animal? Where I live there's no farm animals. We hunt them."

"What? You don't breed livestock?"

"No. Most of my people believe that working the land and breeding animals is for weaklings." His scathing voice spoke volumes about his thoughts on the matter.

"And you disagree with it," Park, the young hardsuit pilot, said questioningly.

Wrex scowled angrily. "My species is killing itself off. How many examples of Krogan farmers and scientists have you heard of?"

"Well, I haven't been there, but, come to think of it… " Shepard said dubiously.

"There are none," was the blunt reply. "All Krogan want is to fight, so they fight — they become guns for hire. So they leave Tuchanka. Few come back. And given that few children survive…" His pause was filled with anger. "But the clan chieftains are all about 'the glorious past' and 'retaking what's ours.' Dumb. What we need is to band together, pool resources. Really retaking the only thing that's ours, our only planet. But that's hard work and nobody likes hard work."

Tracer grunted. "I have yet to meet a species to which that doesn't apply."

Wrex's scowl deepened. "Our people like it even less. With the chieftains talking wonders about the galaxy we almost had…"

"There must be more people thinking like you do," Anika said concerned.

"There is," he agreed. "But in Krogan society there's only one way to change things: you got to become a chieftain yourself. And then you need to have the shamans on your side, or they'll spoil anything you try. They're all about 'keeping traditions.' You can guess which traditions are those."

"Let me guess," Amari said dryly: "Strength, honor, purity."

A mirthless chuckle. "You cheated."

"If I hadn't heard a bit about it," Shepard quipped, "I'd be wondering how you made it to the stars in the first place."

Wrex shook his head. "We shouldn't have left our world. Ever. We weren't ready."

Anika was surprised. "I would have thought you were a proud race."

"Yeah, we are a proud race. Now look where that has brought us."

Park gave him a dubious look. "I don't know how to reconcile that with the genophage…"

Shepard shot him a warning glare, but one that was largely unnecessary.

"Simple. It's in the past. We had it coming, we hadn't, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're dying. And the people who could change it are busy quarreling over what's left."

Amari was once again dry and flat. "Then get rid of them."

"The thought has crossed my mind," he admitted. "But my own father took pains to stamp out the bunch I had gathered to try and change something. After he double-crossed me and tried to kill me on hallowed ground."

Shepard was silent for a while, her drink still on her hands. "I'm sorry to hear that, Wrex."

A grunt. "Why should you be? Like it was some of your business."

Aaliyah put her glass on the table. "You know, I could think it's just the rant of an outcast, but I feel there's more to it. Your ideas could help your race if you talked to the right people. And if you take a few others out of the way first. Say, for instance," she suggested, "you can't remove all the clan chieftains in one stroke all by yourself. But you can remove the chieftain of your own clan."

"Nothing I haven't thought or tried. But I can't now." He shook his head. "People back home know about me, what I tried to do, and what happened to those who tried to help me out. They won't help now."

* * *

"We have put feelers out," Nihlus announced a day later, as a way of getting their meeting started. "All of us Spectres here agree that the timing on the raiders that jumped you on Iera was awfully convenient, but we still haven't found out if there was someone behind them. They were hired guns, but they didn't belong to any of the large syndicates or mercenary companies."

"Awfully convenient, indeed," Shepard grunted. "I wonder if the Blood Pack goons sent after Dr. T'Soni were somehow related."

"We have considered it," Vasir nodded. "We hope to learn more about it soon."

Garrus raised a hand: "Before we get this briefing going, there's something I must report. A Migrant Fleet exile residing on Illium passed on a distress call to me, and I must respond to it."

"What is it about?" Bau asked.

"Jaenna'Gisal is Shilu'Vael's mother." Aaliyah involuntarily cringed when she heard this, but said nothing. "She has some reputation as an unofficial figurehead for the local Quarian emigres, and has been a trusted source of intel on Illium for years — she passes on whatever she judges to be of interest to us, and I return the favor sharing data relevant to her.

"On her last message, Jaenna'Gisal told of a girl undergoing the Quarian rite of passage, their so-called Pilgrimage. This girl, one Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, is the daughter of a high ranking admiral on the Migrant Fleet, and to hear her put it, she gambled her life by sneaking into abandoned Quarian colonies to mine data on the Geth. It apparently paid off big time, but someone sniffed her: she evaded capture out of sheer luck, and the moment she was again on Terminus space, she had to stay on the run from mercenaries after her.

"Jaenna'Gisal is giving her shelter right now, but word is on the street that there is a bounty on Tali'Zorah, and the mercs are shaking up every Quarian they come upon. She can't protect her for long. This girl needs to disappear before they disappear her."

Alliance and Citadel people exchanged looks. "It's premature, but I can't help but feel there's a pattern here," Shimada argued. "Mercenaries surprised us on Iera. More mercenaries attacked Dr. T'Soni's site on Therum. Now I hear that mercenaries are out of the blue behind an acquaintance of your informant who seems to have found something of importance. There's no evidence of this being anything other than a coincidence, but my training and experience have taught me not to regard apparently unconnected events as mere coincidences."

Shepard was surprised to find herself wishing she had Lacroix and Reyes here so she could draw on their experience, ill-gotten as it was. But before she could say anything, Anderson cut in:

"You don't know how right you are, Genji. Apologies for interrupting, but I think the news I bear is related to this. Zenyatta is coming to join our efforts here. He sent a message ahead of him: the Geth told him and his fellow omnics that the ship that attacked Elysium was on the Perseus Veil. Saren was aboard it. We don't yet know what Saren told the Geth, and most certainly we don't know either why they allowed him there on the first place, but we were informed of the results: a schism has happened on the Geth collective. A part of them went with Saren."

Vasir paled. Rix, Nihlus and Bau were equally shocked. "By the Goddess… if the Geth attack some Citadel colony we'll have a panic on our hands." Amari shot her an annoyed glare, clearly upset by the 'Citadel' distinction.

"If there was room for doubt about him going rogue, now there is none," Rix said curtly.

"What your agent suggests makes a lot more sense now," Bau gestured at Genji. "We must answer this call. If this Quarian has information relevant to this we can take it to the Council and bring our operation into the open. That will grant us greater leeway to stop Saren."

"Can we go to Illium?" Anika asked.

"On paper, it's a world ran by Asari corporate interests," Vasir informed. "But the Matriarchy has co-opted everyone worth co-opting there, they have agents and sources all over the place. You can go, but your presence there will be noticed."

Aaliyah's hunch intensified. "Maybe we should find a clandestine way in."

Anderson was unsettled by that. "The Alliance doesn't have much in the way of assets in place there," he manifested. "If you try to sneak in and you are detected, it's going to attract a lot more attention."

Tracer voiced Shepard's thoughts: "No assets that you know of, that is. We could ask the guests aboard our ship. If I heard right, they seem to be uncannily well connected."

"It's a security risk," Nihlus objected at once.

"I agree," Shepard said forcefully, "but right now, the stakes are too high. Besides, even if they could somehow foil Mercy, we have Lumiscant and Brulirea to keep a constant eye on our communication channels. I stand by them." Both omnics respectfully bowed their head in thanks.

"They will only help you part of the way," Vasir warned her. "Once you land on Illium, you'll have to rely on your Mercy AI only. And pray that nobody notices it. Illium is laxer than most Citadel worlds but AIs are still banned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009 contributed priceless help in reviewing and poking holes in my writing as needed. Usual, but no less appreciated for that. Kudos to you, guys.


	24. Citadel: Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Compact travels to Illium to answer to the distress call received by Garrus.

Nos Astra - Illium surface

The shuttle settled on the launch pad with soft hydraulic hisses.

"Alright, here we are," Martinsson said forcefully.

"It's been said already, but I'll repeat it," Nihlus warned. "This is Citadel territory in all but name. We can appeal to Spectre authority in a fix, but the more discrete the better."

Tracer shrugged. "I'm fine. You're the guvner here."

After a tense argument, the Spectres had allowed Shepard to use the network of contacts from Lawson's previous agency, even though the woman had warned that, quite likely, everyone already knew she was burned.

"If we get a positive response, it can only mean you are being expressly allowed to use that asset," Miranda had said.

An already disquieted Nihlus had only grown even more uneasy upon hearing that. "This is a recipe for disaster."

"We have already discussed that there are no good options here," Shepard had reminded him. "You've already said none of you has the kind of obscure and very personal connections here that would have escaped scrutiny from your fellow Spectres — and hence, from the Matriarchy. The Alliance never had anything other than a few underworld contacts which no doubt you knew about. The only thing we're left with here is a clandestine network of unknown extent and dubious reliability. Are we going to debate again whether it's best to use it or to knock on the front door?"

Nihlus and Rix had grumbled their discontent but reluctantly allowed that there was no other way around. Aaliyah did not like it either, but she had committed herself to that course, so there was no point in arguing about it anymore.

They had barely reached the Tasale system when they had received the news: Jaenna'Gisal's safe house had been penetrated, and both she and her guest were on the run. A second report forwarded by Rix informed that they had found sanctuary, but where, they had not told, and he did not know either. Thus, the race was on — and their adversaries had a head start.

Miranda had had them steer not for the main starport in Nos Astra, but for a small launch pad improvised atop an unfinished building, one that clearly had meant to become another of the many skyscrapers of this sprawling city. The fact that they had only been raised once on the radio, with nothing in the way of tracking to follow, had only made the Citadel crew even more uncomfortable. Worse still, Lawson had only agreed to help after being given assurances that, as long as the people whose support she managed to secure did not do anything that put the lives of others at risk, the Spectres would not endeavor to investigate her network.

"Alright, miss Lawson, you've brought us this far," Shepard said coolly. "Who's our contact here?"

"We're about to find out." Miranda eyed Anika expectantly.

"You're clear."  _But we're listening,_ her eyes said. She got a perfunctory nod in response.

They opened the airlock. On the other end of the boarding ramp, a single person was waiting.

"I'll be damned if I don't trust my eyes," the stranger said. His face was a ghastly visage of overlapping burns. "The very Gabriel Reyes himself in the flesh. Aren't you supposed to be rotting away somewhere?"

The assassin smiled broadly. "Zaeed Massani. You've come a long way from being cannon fodder."

The man's face broke in a predatory grin. "Well, what can I say. After your pal Morrison ran Talon to the ground I had to go somewhere else."

Reyes looked around him. "The Zaeed I remember was a resourceful bastard. For sure he wouldn't have ended up in a dump like this."

"I've hit a rough patch," was the reply. It sounded like sandpaper grating on a blackboard. "But I'm a tough motherfucker. Not as tough as you are, but I'll get right back up. You just watch." He rested his eyes on Widowmaker's sinuous figure, leering at her: "I see you're still keeping your French murderer around. Good to see you,  _mon chérie._  Gets my blood running." Amélie was disgusted by the lecherous look, but Widowmaker did not give him anything other than a withering glare. "Who's the rest of your crew… no way, you've gotten that little… girl to jump ship?"

"Not exactly." He gestured at Shepard. "She's the boss here. That's all you need to know."

The Starwatch colonel appraised the man. His eyes were mismatched, and given what she could see about his injuries he had survived through more than an entire platoon of soldiers put together. At least one of his limbs was artificial, and even so he moved with a swagger that proclaimed he did not fear anything. A tough-as-nails mercenary, and by his own words, once a Talon man. He appeared quite old indeed. "What have you been told?"

"Only that I had to expect her." He pointed half-heartedly at Miranda. Aaliyah noted that, even if Lawson's outfit was even more sheer and revealing than that of Lacroix, he did not leer at her as he had done with Widowmaker. "Fee's already paid, so let's talk business. Whose ass are you after?"

She found herself liking the situation less and less. Miranda had not been seen making any arrangements to pay for this man's services, but it could just as easily be a previously existing arrangement — as his attitude towards Lawson appeared to be proof. "You in touch with the merc community, I gather."

The man laughed hoarsely. "In touch? I built up a good chunk of it. They kicked me out, but I'm coming back. Or more properly, they'll come back to me."

"They kicked you out? I hope you still have some good insider sources."

"I know the sorry lot better than they know themselves," Zaeed grumbled back. "Look, girl, you gonna keep running in circles or are we going to get to work?"

She ignored the bravado. "Someone put a bounty on a Quarian girl. Her name is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. We need to find out who did it, and locate her before someone else does."

A frown appeared on the burn-scarred face. "You're late for that one. I heard someone already stormed her hideout."

"They found a safe haven," Garrus informed. He did not like this human, if his tone of voice was proof. "The woman sheltering our quarry told us herself, but she did not say where. She hasn't contacted us since."

The frown deepened. "So you say this woman trusted you enough to tell you they were safe, but not enough to say where they were? Call me paranoid, but I get the feeling she thinks someone's not playing nice in your outfit."

Shepard would have loved to dismiss that, but clearly someone (Sombra?) knew enough about the Compact to be able to reach her directly. How had that someone gotten that information was anyone's best guess. "That's being looked into," was all that she said.

"Well, girl, get your house in order," Zaeed grumbled. "I hate having to look over my shoulder all the time. Now, follow me."

* * *

Illium was touted as a place where the sophistication of the Asari met the rough-and-tumble of the Terminus worlds, with some hazards tossed in to spice up the mix. The truth was a little different, but just a little — in the malls and on the spindly outlines of the towers jutting the landscape there was glitter and style to see alright, but danger lurked about to swallow the unwary.

And the dangers here were all around. The ground level streets of Nos Astra were crowded, but the denizens were very modest at best. Carrying at least a sidearm was apparently mandatory here, with the local gangs being much more heavily armed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Undercity," Zaeed said mockingly. "Here in Nos Astra, the closer to the surface you live, the worse off you are."

"It's been some time since my last visit," Valena Danaan noted. "Nothing here stays the same for long."

"Not glitzy and shiny down here, eh?" was the rough reply. "This place is why it's said Illium is not that far removed from Omega. Actually I like it better over there. It's a hellhole, but they don't pretend they're anything else."

It was readily apparent that Massani was well known enough if not already a local figure. Here and there he traded insults with this or that gangster and challenged another to a fistfight, supposing this other lowlife knew which end of the fist went where. The net result: Shepard's group was allowed to proceed unimpeded through the murky streets, despite openly wading into the turf of 'no less than five' gangs, according to their guide.

"These are all small timers," the merc explained hoarsely. "The really big groups maintain compounds better fortified than a Turian firebase. I haven't heard of Quarians being tight with any of those, so we won't go near them either."

Shepard glanced briefly at Nihlus and Garrus. They acknowledged her look but did not say anything. "Who are the big groups you're talking about?"

"The Blood Pack, the Eclipse corporation… and the Blue Suns." The last words hissed out. "Hades Security and the Fortaleza mercenary company also have bases here. Smaller ones, but they aren't interested in the kind of turf wars the others are so fond of."

Their detour took them into what passed for a shantytown on this world. Streets became tighter, but no less crowded. People here lived in ridiculously cramped spaces, as they could see when the occasional open door let them peek inside.

That amplified the impact of seeing what had become of Jaenna'Gisal's former hideout. It had apparently been another cramped flophouse, but now it was a scorched ruin, with holes blown in the walls and pieces of appliances, furniture and whatnot scattered everywhere.

There were some people there too. Not scavengers — they were too heavily armed for that.

"Hey, boys, look who's coming to pick at the bones," one of them said. At once the other ten-odd bounty hunters scattered about turned to face the newcomers. They all wore armour patterned in blue shades.

"Not surprised you'd see it like that, Candace," Zaeed growled in sandpaper-on-blackboard fashion. "You always were one to backstab others and scoop with all the money."

"You said it yourself. Remember? You can't defend it, 'twas never yours." Candace was black-skinned, bulky, and no stranger to violence, given the scars weaving across her left cheek. "So who are these morons with you? Gonna try and piss on the turf of your own crew?"

Reyes could have ended the standoff there and then, but he wanted to see how Zaeed dealt with it. He was not disappointed. Without warning, Massani's right fist bent Candace in two, then his knee found her forehead. Guns came out of their holsters, but Zaeed already had his former underling in a vise.

"You forgot who you were talking to, you pretentious bitch," he snarled in her ear. "I don't need no one to mess up any of you wet-nosed pricks. You go back to Vido and tell him he's doing a damn fine job at leading  _my_  outfit. Now get lost."

He kicked the woman towards her crew. Cold looks were exchanged between the mercs and the Compact group. The former Blackwatch commander returned a Batarian's glare with a slow step forward and an even slower motion with his left thumb across his throat.

At length the bounty hunters decided it was not worth it.

"This isn't over, Massani," Candace hissed.

Out of nowhere, guns pointing at the woman suddenly manifested in Gabriel's hands. His voice became the low, almost guttural rasp Shepard remembered all too well. "We can end it right now."

The mercenaries quailed before him and did not need further incentive to leave.

"We haven't seen the last of your blokes," Tracer quipped dryly.

"Let them come," Zaeed said plainly, without bravado. "They've been at that for a year now. I'm ready for them."

"Let's hope they don't deliver on their threats today." Shepard's sharp retort was a reminder:  _you have other concerns now_.

Nihlus and Garrus got to work. Aaliyah noticed they knew what they were looking for, so she surmised they had been here before at least once — and her hunch was proved right when Vakarian looked into the instrument panel of the kitchen, retrieved something from there and punched it into his omni-tool. She refrained herself from asking what it was that they had found: there were too many eyes and ears around. She would know soon enough, in any case.

Widowmaker was outside. She was gauging the faces she saw. She knew they were being watched —too many curious eyes, and not a few of them belonging to armed people— and liked it not at all. She was at her best when no one could see her, preferably perched atop somewhere high, but in this ramshackle and haphazard hodgepodge of corridors and flophouses dug around the foundations of the monumental skyscrapers, she felt naked.

She looked at her fellow troopers. They all were similarly uneasy. Her eyes met Tracer's, and she was briefly perplexed — she had expected to see cool apathy at best and open hostility at worst. But there was none of that. The Overwatch legend was also disquieted, discretely but carefully surveying the people around them, unable to shake that same feeling of exposure.

So everyone breathed inwardly a sigh of relief when Nihlus and Garrus walked out. An exchange of looks with Massani, and with a profusion of vulgarities and threats the grizzled veteran opened a path for them through the assembled onlookers and out of the slum.

"We won't shake these tails soon enough," Martinsson noted warily.

Zaeed glanced at her with a bored look on his burn-scarred face. "If no one's following, an ambush is coming." A second later he added: "Never hurts to think one's coming anyway."

* * *

"The place is supposed to be up ahead," Garrus informed.

"Let's get this over with," Reyes muttered. "Everyone knows we're here already."

This was no longer a rundown slum in the Undercity. It was a working-class neighborhood instead, but it was not that far away from the surface that it was beyond its influence. It had small separate apartments instead of flophouses and walkways bridging the chasms between the buildings, hovercars racing at breakneck speeds over and below them.

"Lacroix and Vakarian, take position here," Shepard said. "You two should be able to cover the corridor from this point."

It was a long hallway, doors lining both sides. Apparently, graffitis were a universal custom, but instead of the haphazard and ugly-looking mishmash of sprays juxtaposing atop each other, the artist had composed a beautiful design that turned the whole hallway into an idyllic vista of a forest.

"I'm surprised the gangs would respect this mural," Martinsson noted. The corridors and stairs they had traversed to reach this place were saturated with all sorts of designs and sprays identifying this or that place as turf belonging to this or that group.

"Grove Alley is kind of an unofficial neutral ground for the small timers," Zaeed pointed out in his sandpaper-on-blackboard voice. "The big fish come here when they need to recruit muscle."

"So where's everyone?" Shepard asked. "There should be someone around at least."

"Something isn't right," Nihlus said quietly. "Stay sharp."

The message the Spectre had forwarded to the emergency mailbox —the address for which they had obtained from the chip retrieved on Jaenna'Gisal's hideout— had been answered with a number and a street: 644 Grove Alley. They were right at the door now.

Valena, Shepard, Reyes and Oxton took positions by the door, with Miranda, Wrex, Martinsson and Zaeed covering them, Ziegler slightly behind them in turn and in full view of Lacroix and Vakarian. Nihlus looked one way, then another, and then approached the locked door. A few taps on his omni-tool, then it slid open.

The flat was ordinary. The large living room had windows facing the chasm and the building on the other side of it. A kitchen, a bedroom, a restroom, and a small storage closet.

And that was it. The place was empty.

Nihlus exchanged glances with Shepard, then silently he gestured for the squad to enter.

"We've been had," Shepard said in frustration.

"Spread out," Nihlus instructed. "We have to search this place carefully…"

The bomb was simple enough, a typical low-yield antipersonnel fusion charge. The detonator, on the other hand, was a work of patience and mindfulness. The software in charge had been given precise parameters of activation, down to the measurements and mass of the people expected to trigger it. In this fashion, it recognized Nihlus and Danaan as exact matches on its database, with a few scant millimeters and not half a kilogram of weight of a difference between the readings and the values stored. It also recognized Shepard. At this point, the explosive was primed and ready to detonate, but the software was still searching for the primary target, the one its designer had considered most difficult to surprise or incapacitate with such a trap, and thus the most important one.

Then Tracer walked into the living room.

There was a pulse of light and a thunderbolt roared as the explosion tore through the Compact crew. A cloud of dust poured out into the corridor outside.

The backup team raced into the apartment. "Colonel! Lena! Are you okay?" Ziegler called out afraid.

" _*kaff* *kaff*..._ I… I'm alive… I think…  _*kaff*_ " Shepard painstakingly rolled on her back and tried to sit up straight. She succeeded on the third attempt, and needed a few blinks to clear her sight, her head feeling numb and heavy.

Then she paled.

Clearly the explosive had gone off right next to Nihlus, for he had taken the worst of it — and that probably had saved the lives of the others. The shields on his armor had absorbed part of the blast, and that was probably the sole reason he was still whole. He was lying with his back against the wall in a puddle of his own blood… and Tracer was right next to him.

"Lena!" At once Anika was beside her. Tracer was out cold. Entire sections of her lightweight armor had been torn off. The core of her chronal accelerator was cracked and gave off sparks. A quick examination drew a grimace and an urgent: "We have to get them to the ship!"

Behind her, Aaliyah heard Reyes' boots. He did not sound very steady on his feet, but as she turned to look at him he straightened up.

"I'll take her there."

Apprehension at once appeared on Anika's and Shepard's faces. The former Blackwatch leader noticed this: "If I wanted her dead I wouldn't throw her over the rails behind your back, I'd blow her head off right here," he growled almost gutturally. "You want to save her life or not?"

Shepard wanted to argue he was more useful here, but Anika's urgent expression told her there was no time. A brief glance at the Asari, who had gotten off with minor scratches, then she agreed. "Then go. Anika and Valena, you go with them too."

Garrus came in next, Wrex and Miranda on his heels. When he saw what had become of Nihlus his face contorted in shock. At once he unslung his backpack and unpacked his first aid kit, and was about to start trying to dress his wounds when the Krogan interrupted him:

"You let me do that. Get help. He won't live long if he doesn't get proper care."

Vakarian was surprised by the gesture in more ways than one —a  _Krogan_ helping a  _Turian_  out of all people—, but Wrex clearly knew how to deal with the problem — and he was right.

"We can get transportation for Lena too?" Shepard asked.

Garrus was focused on his omni-tool. "I can, but we'll be blown. No way to disguise her. Everyone knows who is Tracer."

"We'll deal with that later. Right now it's critical to get her to the ship."

"I can try and arrange that," Miranda volunteered. "And keep her presence here a secret."

Shepard was faced with a dilemma. She did not trust the woman, and she did not want to expose their operation there either.

"Vakarian, is that you?" A female voice spoke roughly on the Turian's omni-tool.

"Jaenna?" He was startled, then he demanded: "Where in the name of all gods are you?!"

"On the run, you idiot!" she retorted as sharply. "I don't know what outfit are you running with, but you sure don't run a tight operation. Someone was in that flat before you came."

"No shit," Shepard muttered under her breath.

Garrus wanted to strangle the Quarian, but he could not fault her for being paranoid. Especially since she was right. He bottled his anger; the mission came first. "Where are you?"

"Some four stories over your head. If you got  _reliable_  people with you, then get moving. We're with our asses out in the wind here."

"Roger." He closed the channel. "We need to go, right now."

Shepard turned to Lawson. "We'll do it your way. Martinsson, you stay with her. Contact me when you're on the ship."

A nod. "Understood."

"Reyes," she said next, "I'll make sure Lena knows of your offer, but right now all of us need you doing something else."  _Doing what you do best,_ she added darkly in silence.

"Cram the emotional speech." Guns appeared again in his hands. "Which way?"

Garrus put aside his misgivings about Reyes for a moment and forwarded him the location. "There. Go ahead of us, you can get there faster than we can."

"Shimada and Lacroix, you go, too," Shepard ordered. "We'll meet you there."

* * *

"Vakarian, hurry up already!" Jaenna'Gisal shouted on her omni-tool. "We're pinned down here!"

"We're on our way!" came the reply. "Friendlies are closing in on your position, you should have backup soon."

A hoarse voice rasped, "I'm already here."

Both Quarians were startled. The younger one whirled around and pointed her shotgun at the figure that seemed to walk into existence right out of the shadows: "Stop right there!"

Reyes glared coldly at her. "Put that gun down before you hurt yourself." He walked right past them and towards the wreckage that had once been the front door, not caring at all about the weapons pointed at him. Gunfire was pouring in from an angle. He spoke on the squad's radio channel: "I hope it's not your friends, Zaeed."

"Who are you?" Jaenna demanded to his back.

He did not turn around. "I'm with your Turian friend. Now shut up and get ready to move."

In the hallway outside, Lacroix was cloaked and hanging down from the ceiling on her grappling hook. She scouted the assailants that had pinned the Quarians inside their hideout: "Four bounty hunters, Salarian and Turian." A few instants later she added: "More of them coming from their side."

"I'm on them." The stream of suppressive fire was cut short when a blade worked its way through one of the Turian assailants. In ancient days long past, Genji would follow up with a stream of shuriken and another blindingly fast dash to cut through flesh and armor like butter. It was not that different nowadays, actually, the only notable difference now being that his shuriken were pieces of ultra-hot graphene manufactured on the spot by his omni-tool, and he was no less precise with them. A Salarian trying to bring his rifle to bear against him would learn of this: a scream, and the lanky alien collapsed on the floor like a broken puppet, his ankles and wrists sliced clean.

The other two attackers managed to get clear and open up on him. Again a blade flashed, then the air was filled with the sounds of metal ricocheting on metal, and another of the aliens went down as the hail of gunfire was reflected right back at him. The other one put her weapon aside and readied a grenade — giving Widowmaker a perfect target. The mistake cost the alien her life.

" _Arigato,_ " Genji said quietly before cloaking again and darting to cover, just in time to see another six people turn around the corner in the hallway intersecting theirs. "Enemy spotted. One Asari, the rest a mix of Batarians and Turians."

"Roger," Reyes acknowledged. "I'll keep the Asari busy. You deal with the rest."

" _Affirmatif._ "

Invisible and absolutely still, Shimada let the bounty hunters run past him. They walked up to the corridor intersection where the bodies of the other mercenaries laid. Most of them were outfitted with submachine guns and other close combat arms, except for two sporting long rifles. One of the latter crouched, cloaked before his eyes, and peeked around the corner.

A large caliber rifle boomed. The merc's head blew in pieces, the rest of his body reappearing shortly afterward. Widowmaker's shot was the signal Genji was waiting to spring into action. Omni-blades sprang on his wrists and he dashed through the bounty hunter team, then he somersaulted into the air, hurling shuriken after shuriken at his targets—

—a violent impact tossed Genji all the way down the hallway. He twisted in midair and managed to land on his feet, but he was fully exposed.

Amélie said curtly, "I got you covered, but not for long."

"I know. Shepard, they got a biotic with them, a good one."

"We're almost there now, hold them off a little longer!" came the reply.

Reyes, having heard this, turned to both Quarians. "Stay here." Then, to Lacroix: "Hold your fire until you get a clear shot."

Then he strode into the hallway.

The feminine alien flashed ablaze in blue. In the years following the First Contact War, Reyes had learned to avoid frontal confrontations with skilled biotics, resorting to ambushes or sneak attacks when it was necessary for him to deal with one. For the most part, the approach had proved lethal enough, but the skirmish in Freeport 74 had been a wake-up call of sorts: evasion was not always a choice, especially when he had squadmates to account for. The outcome of the raid on Iera had only reinforced this.

So he had sought Lawson's advice. The telltale blaze on his opponent brought her words to mind, and he readied himself. Like a cannonball, the Asari hurled herself at him blindingly fast, only to pass cleanly through him as he shifted into a cloud of ink-black smoke. In that same cloud form, he wrapped himself around his enemy—

—but, to his annoyance, he realized he could not consume her: the barriers of this Asari were too strong for him to breach as an intangible wraith. He shifted back into solid form, brought his weapons to bear and opened up as the alien blazed in blue again. A flash, and he became weightless as he was pulled towards the Asari; the invisible force gripping him started to constrict, and out of reflex again he became semisolid, just before another attack that would have sent him flying away detonated with an explosive thunderbolt. His form melted away, but he reformed a few steps from her, slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed.  _Goddamned bitch, she's strong!_

He did not wait for her to cast another attack at him. Conscious of Lacroix and Shimada behind him, he ran at the Asari firing his weapons at her, wanting to keep her on the defensive; the submachine guns could not pierce that defense, but clearly were an annoyance that forced his opponent to reinforce her barrier. He ceased fire, giving her an opening on purpose, and she unleashed a cascade of blasts at him, but he dodged the attack by shifting into a puddle of darkness staining the ground, fully exposing the Asari in this way to Lacroix's rifle, who did not hesitate—

The rifle boomed. There was an acute ringing sound as the Asari reflected the shot right back. Genji had warned himself to expect that kind of move, given his experience when fighting Miranda and his own penchant for it, but Lacroix's was no ordinary rifle. The shot ricocheted on his blade blowing right through his left leg, caroming again on the wall behind him and piercing a hole through Amélie's shoulder. A feminine scream, and Widowmaker crumpled to the ground.

But unbeknownst to the Asari, Reyes was reforming behind her. This time, the point-blank burst chewed right through her barrier. He saw his opening now and turned again into a smoky spectre that engulfed his enemy. The alien gasped, but turned around and jumped into the air to smash the ground with a blazing fist. A deafening thunder flooded the hallways as the impact sent out a tremendous shockwave, dissolving Reyes' shadowy form—

—right at the time the rest of the Compact crew appeared on the corridor next to Genji and Widowmaker. Valena recognized what had just transpired and without warning charged forward, tossing a series of dart-like attacks at Reyes' assailant as she ran. The other Asari stood fast and absorbed it — and despite Garrus surprising her with a direct shot, her barrier still held, giving her time enough to realize she was outnumbered and overwhelmed. With a somersault she dodged the barrage fired her way, then turned ablaze for one last time, and darted away down the same alley she had come.

Shepard ran to secure the other end of the hallway, Wrex and Zaeed with her, leaving Anika to tend to Genji and Widowmaker and Garrus to cover her. She peeked around the intersection, seeing nothing other than the corpses of the dead mercenaries. "Clear here!"

Ziegler gave Shimada a quick check-out. "Nothing serious," she evaluated crisply, then produced an omni-gel canister and fabricated some sealant on the spot with her omni-tool to close the hole the caroming round had pierced through his cybernetic leg. It took her seconds to apply it.

" _Arigato_ ," he thanked her, and stood up. He glanced at Amélie: the sniper had already performed some first-aid herself by applying some medi-gel to her wound. The woman gave him a nod, her yellow eyes cool but not antagonizing him. He acknowledged her and hurried away to join Shepard.

"Keep your eyes open. This isn't over yet," the Starwatch colonel warned. She looked around: "Where's Reyes?"

Her answer came in the way of a puddle of liquid-like darkness slowly expanding around the corpses of the four mercenaries Lacroix and Shimada had first dispatched. With horrid fascination, Wrex stared as the corpses seemed to sink—no, as the corpses  _sank_  into the puddle, one millimeter at a time, to ultimately vanish without a trace.

Reaper emerged from the puddle seconds later.

"That woman almost got me."

The Krogan was apoplectic. "What in blazes are you?"

Zaeed gave him a blank look, but did not comment on that, noting instead: "That's not the kind of stuff Talon dealt with."

Aaliyah had also watched, keeping her features under rigid control. She fought to box away the dreadful memories of what had happened to her team and the anger and rage they evoked, and forced herself to speak up instead: "Good job. You need some time?"

Reyes noticed the struggle in Shepard's face. He remembered their exchange a few days back, and that moved him not to bait her as he would usually have done. "Just a few seconds."

She nodded, then looked away, not trusting herself to contain the accusing voices inside her, and moved to get to work. Since neither Brulirea nor Lumiscant were available, engineering and sapping duties had fallen upon her, and thus she pulled out a hardlight extension for her omni-tool out of a hip satchel. "Garrus, I'm laying down countermeasures and defenses on this side. See to our VIPs."

"You got it."

Zaeed's omni-tool rang. He tapped it to open the message, then he frowned. "Ain't that peachy… Reyes! We don't have much time here. Someone's tipped off the Blood Pack; soon we'll be up to our eyeballs in vorcha. Then there'll be Eclipse and the Blue Suns to deal with too."

Aaliyah continued her work, setting up small defense turrets and spraying a layer of near-invisible and highly flammable adhesive on the floor. "I trust you know the best way out?"

"Yeah, but so do they," was the dry reply.

The Quarians came into the hallway and looked both ways. Her limited contact with Shilu'Vael had not taught Aaliyah how to read their body language accurately, but she could gather enough from their slow motions. "Vakarian, what is this?" Jaenna asked, dumbfounded. "You working with the Alliance now?"

"Later," was the brusque answer. He pointed at Shepard: "If you're ready to go, stay with her. Get moving!"

At that moment Aaliyah's own omni-tool vibrated: "Shepard, we've reached the ship," Lawson informed. "Nihlus and Oxton are being taken care of. Martinsson and I are aboard a shuttle now. Are you in need of extraction?"

The Starwatch colonel exhaled as if a great weight had been taken off her shoulders. "Damn straight we are." She turned to Zaeed: "We need a safe LZ."

The man frowned. "There are a few vents we can use a couple of floors going up, but it's not for a shuttle to land on. The closest place is six stories upwards, across the street. Smart money says the place will be watched, though."

"You think the building across the street will be tougher than this one?"

"I don't think so. But getting there ain't gonna be no walk in the park. I've been on the other side of this problem. I'd stake out the two closest walkways, deploy my teams on this building and post a few sentries on the ones around."

"Gunships?"

"It's not every day that someone puts a two million credit bounty on someone… But they wouldn't go that far. The Matriarchy turns a blind eye to the turf wars as long as they don't get out of hand. It's a large bounty, but if they used gunships they'd blow it all away on hush-money to get away with it — no gain worth the trouble."

Shepard considered her choices. These hallways were scarce in cover, and her squadshield could not see them through an extended firefight; if they were boxed in, short of breaking into the adjoining apartments they had no way of holding for long there. Taking the elevators was more or less equivalent to handing themselves over to the enemy in a lunchbox. While they could make their escape through the many stairwells about, a smart commander would have them all watched, and inevitably they would get cornered. The walkways between buildings were equally deadly: all it took to pin them down were a few really good sharpshooters, and if there were gunships about… Zaeed said it was unlikely, but…

There was no obvious answer.  _A shit sandwich whichever way you look at it. If only we could have brought Amari and Park..._

"We'll take the walkways," she resolved at last. "Reyes and Shimada, you two scout ahead of us. If you can make it to the other side and get rid of lookouts and marksmen, we should be able to fight our way through. Lacroix," she asked next, "can you still fight?"

The assassin gave her a cool nod. " _Oui._ "

She pointed at Garrus. "You spot a gunship, you bring it down. Work with him."

" _Compris._ "

One last look around, then: "Alright, people, let's get going."

The hallway immediately above theirs was a little livelier: people scurrying to get into their apartments, fearfully looking at the weapons on their hands and evading their evaluating glares. The same thought flashed in everyone's minds, and they were resigned to it already. Their progress was being watched and reported. Still, they did not come upon anyone hostile here, and neither did they on the next level…

"I have spotted a Blood Pack squad coming your way," Genji reported quietly. "They're on the other side and about to cross the walkway. Three Krogan and a score of Vorcha."

"Get moving!" Garrus spurred them.

The Compact crew appeared on the doorway to the bridge while the Blood Pack squad was right in the middle. The Krogan in front only glanced at them for a second before bringing his rifle to bear, opening fire and letting out a rousing battle cry, the many vorcha he led answering with a chaotic chorus of shrieks and snarls. Shepard was expecting that and raised her shield at once as her crew took positions behind both sides of the doorway. A furious firefight ensued, but, as had been the case with the Krogan back on Therum, this one simply ignored the gunfire pelting him and strode pugnaciously out of cover—

—and then Garrus' shot broke through his arrogance when it tore off the hardened transparent cover protecting his right eye. The Blood Pack lieutenant snarled in pain and rage, then retreated back to cover, and waved the vorcha onward.

The triumph would, however, be short-lived: "Contact, platoon of mercenaries coming at you from around the side," Reyes reported coolly. "They're your crew, Zaeed."

"Let me guess," the hoarse reply came: "Candace?"

"That same one."

"You go handle that with Reyes!" Shepard barked. "We'll manage this end!"

Candace had brought with her a squad of ten troopers, all of them heavily armed, she herself lugging a rocket launcher; Zaeed, following Reyes' directions, had moved to stake out a particular junction, with time just enough to erect a few protective screens to shield his position, so when the Blue Suns mercenaries came within view, they were greeted by a salvo of machine gun fire.

"Now who's coming to pick at the bones?" Zaeed snarled from behind the corner.

"What's the matter, Massani?" Was the baiting response. "Can't keep it on your own that you need help from others?"

His own answer sent splinters flying a few inches from Candace's face. "I think I told you I don't need no help to deal with you. Stay here and the last thing you'll see will be a gun flash."

_Keep them distracted a little longer,_  Reyes messaged him.  _I'm almost in position._

"Oh yeah? Well here's another offer for you," she shouted back. "If you give the girl to us you'll get your choice of ships off Illium for you and that bunch of losers you've brought with you."

"You don't really hope I believe you've grown a heart in the last few hours, eh?"

"There's two million reasons, old man. Your hearing not good? Age catching up with you?"

Zaeed spat. "If I can't get that bounty I'd rather give her over to the Pack. You saw me do it?" he barked, punctuating his comment with another burst that again drew splinters near her. "Draw your conclusions, if thinking isn't too painful for you."

"Don't say you didn't get your chance. Get him!"

It was, however, too late for them. Reaper —not Reyes— was already there. A Batarian yelled an alarm as the shadowy wraith rose from the ground right next to Candace, but she did not have time for so much as a glance before the shadow was on top of her. The smug look gave way to a rictus of terror—

—but then the wraith dissolved before her face into a cloud of inky black smoke that engulfed the whole platoon of Blue Suns mercenaries, and the hallway filled with screaming. Instants later, there was nothing left to prove they had ever been there—

—except for Candace, who bent over coughing explosively. Blood spattered the floor before her. She fell to her knees first, then on her hands, and tried to crawl away, but the burning pain inside her lungs tormented her relentlessly as her body tried —and failed— to expel the stuff that was eating her from the inside out.

Massani stopped next to her and put the barrel of his Revenant machine gun to her face. "I told you this was the last thing you'd see."

He pulled the trigger. The corpse fell limp.

Then he turned around. He did not want to see how Reaper consumed what was left of her.

But someone else was arriving to join that engagement: "YMIR mechs, YMIR mechs! Massani, there are three YMIR mechs turning around the corner and making for your corridor!" Genji alerted from his vantage point across the bridge.

There was only one thing for Zaeed to do now. He tossed his machine gun aside, reached for the rocket launcher his once-subordinate had lugged but never gotten a chance to use, and waited.

The first YMIR mech took only one step into Massani's corridor. The VI software running it had anticipated an ambush, and the first part of the mech that Zaeed saw was a machine gun pointed right at him, but his rocket was faster. The first warhead blew the gun arm away, and the second missile wrecked the servos on a leg. The huge robot tilted drunkenly and fell on its side, in doing so becoming an obstacle the other two such mechs behind it could not easily negotiate.

"We can hold them off here, but not forever!" the mercenary yelled at Shepard on the squad comm channel.

"Enemy lookout neutralized," Genji informed. Then there was the pulsing noise of engines in the sky and he warned: "Possible aircraft incoming from your left side!"

The 'possible' was soon realized when the black shuttle appeared from around the bulk of their tower and approached the walkway. The side door slid open, and half a dozen vorcha opened up with their guns in a wildly inaccurate barrage that nonetheless partially accomplished its objective: force the Compact squad to keep their heads down behind cover.

The only ones still standing were Shepard, who was covering the retreat of the rest with her squadshield, and Valena behind her. They exchanged looks for an instant, then Valena blazed blue and, with a hurling motion, she tossed Aaliyah inside the passenger deck of the shuttle, right in the middle of the gaggle of vorcha ready to jump on top of the Compact crew. The impact knocked one of the troopers out cold and sent the others sprawling about, but the surprise would not last long, and Shepard knew it. The first of the mongrel like aliens charged at her with a piercing shriek; she seized it by a wrist, and with a twist of her waist, she tossed it behind her and down the chasm to its death. In the same fluid motion, she sent a slug through the right eye of another who had tried to profit from the distraction. Gunfire flashed in the small passenger deck as the Starwatch colonel and the Blood Pack grunts traded shots, but here Shepard's mastery with sidearms saw her through: two rounds, one on the chest, the other on the head, then she would parry the riposte with her squadshield and fight defensively, looking for another chance to double tap a foe—

Suddenly the shuttle swerved violently and banked left as its engines roared with more power. Both Shepard and her enemies were startled by that, and the horizon behind her, crowded by towers as it was, disappeared to be replaced by a labyrinthine maze of streets teeming with blinking lights.

Everyone reached for a hold. The screech of nails on metal filled the deck as three vorcha tried to find purchase on the floor, to ultimately fail and fall off the craft screaming. Another crashed into Aaliyah, tumbled half out of the shuttle and, in desperation, wrapped both arms around her left leg. "LET GO!" she snarled furiously, then the panel she was latched onto came loose. On the spot she triggered her hardlight projector, and the beam attached itself to the bulkhead opposite the now-open sliding door; four frantic kicks with her free leg, and the last vorcha also fell off the shuttle.

Which left Shepard alone in the passenger deck dangling from a hardlight umbilical cord attached to a bulkhead — and the chaotic tumbles of the craft as it went told her that—

A violent jolt slammed her against the floor. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but her lifeline thankfully held. She sought a hold for a desperate instant with her right hand, and found purchase on a hole made by some gun. Another violent jolt, but she did not let go. An odd streak of light blinded her briefly—and that caused her to realize that the shuttle was spinning. What she had seen was the sun setting, and now the blazing shape circled chaotically behind her.

She had only one way out. Holding for dear life with her right hand, she waited for the right moment—and when it came, she cut her hardlight lifeline, then cast it anew at the inner partition separating the flight and passenger decks. It caught. A few tumbles and twists, and she hit the partition with her shoulder, to then work her way painstakingly towards the cockpit. The pilot's brains were splattered across the windshield, so she did the only thing she could; she reached for the controls and tried to stabilize the shuttle—

—just in time to see it about to crash head-on against a building. In panic she sent it on a straight vertical climb, and the shuttle sped upwards, scarcely a meter away from the windows. She passed by the walkway before the incredulous eyes of the Compact crew, and struggled with the controls, appealing to what little piloting skill she had, to pull away from the building and come into level flight.

She nearly collapsed with relief when, at last, the horizon was visible through the blood on the windshield.

"Alright, I've stabilized this," she breathed on the radio. "Let's go home."

* * *

Flying was something Aaliyah preferred to leave in the capable hands of Amari or Tracer, but they had agreed there was no way Pharah's daughter could deploy without being instantly recognized as an Alliance soldier —jumpjet infantry was a specialty unique to humans—, and Lena was injured, which meant there was no one to fly the craft other than her. The Mercy AI helped, which meant that attempting to land a shuttle she had never seen before in her entire life was not something that would end with a crash.

"Feet on the ground in 3… 2… 1…" The shuttle settled down next to the  _Girls' Night Out_  with a jolt. Some warning lights appeared on a side panel.  _Fuck it, it won't be me who has to fix this brick._ "We are on the ground, everyone GO, GO, GO!"

The Compact crew and the two VIPs they were escorting raced out of the hijacked shuttle and towards their corvette. Lawson and Martinsson were waiting by the boarding ramp:

"Everything ready to go?"

"Yes, colonel, but—"

Shepard interrupted Miranda: "Can we go or not?"

A nod. "Yes, we can go now."

"Then let's get off this rock. Mercy, you have the wheel."

"I have the wheel," the AI acknowledged her.

With her usual efficiency, Mercy eased them softly off the landing pad. Shepard, Garrus, Lawson and Martinsson were on the bridge, expecting to be hailed by the Asari military or something else to go wrong in that fashion, but everything went off without a hitch.

The moment they entered orbit, Aaliyah exhaled slowly. "Betting on you paid off."

Miranda acknowledged that with a nod. "Thank you, ma'am."

Garrus was uneasy. "Let's only hope using her network doesn't come back later to haunt us."

Shepard had to agree with that. "If we must, we'll deal with that when the time comes. You said there was something else?"

Before Miranda could answer, Valena raised the bridge through the internal speakers: "Shepard, Vakarian, you should come over here the moment you can."

Ziegler and the Asari were there, about to start working on Tracer and Nihlus, but there was a third person there:

"Tela Vasir? What happened to her—" her brain needed a few instants.  _Her armor is the same as…_ "Holy shit… Her? It was her?"

Another person arrived then on the med bay: Reyes. His eyes went briefly over Oxton and the Turian Spectre, but he approached the bloodstained, unconscious Vasir instead. There were no visible wounds on her, but blood had dribbled down her mouth and nostrils.

Without a care in the world, the former Talon operative started removing the Asari's upper armor. "What are you doing?" Anika demanded.

He did not answer for a few seconds. Once her chest was exposed, he felt her sternum and ribs with his hands, then opened her mouth and nostrils. Then he glanced at Shepard and Garrus:

"I trust that you want her to live."

He got nods in response. A frown appeared on his otherwise expressionless face, then he covered her naked chest with a blanket. "Her lungs are wrecked. It's not something you can fix here. Put her in a stasis tube."

Ziegler gaped at him. "How do you…"

"Doc, you got two other people to worry about." He raised his right hand, holding a small memory card on his fingers. "For the time being, I think this ought to yield a few answers."

There were a dozen different questions blazing on Shepard's mind, but she decided they would wait. "For now." She gestured at him to give her the card. Reyes complied, bringing up in this way yet another question, but once again she decided it would wait. "Everyone, clear out. Let Anika and Valena do their work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BrokenLifeCycle contributed some diabolical ideas about Reaper, on top of his usual proofreading and criticism. kyro2009 also has my thanks for his help.


End file.
